


where is god ma, where's the vodka?

by Karentt1



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Good Luck Reading This, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Insecurity, M/M, No Smut, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Therapy, Unbeta'd, but never between geralt and jaskier, geralt can't blush in canon so he will his this, geralt of rivia is an idiot, i cant write it, i got his personality from fanfiction, i have only watched the show so idk how vesemir is, i swear i started writing this with the intent to make him human, im sorry, this is a clusterfuck im sorry in advance, yennefer is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:02:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24188587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karentt1/pseuds/Karentt1
Summary: Geralt just really wanted Jaskier to be okay, but somehow can't see that Jaskier isn't human.Jaskier is torn between two lives, the one he thinks he lives, and one that will come back for him eventually.They fall in love.(modern au where Geralt is a mechanic who falls in love with his new neighbour, but can't see the obvious until it's too late.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 40
Kudos: 210
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	where is god ma, where's the vodka?

**Author's Note:**

> fun story about this; i started writing it when I was feeling really depressed, and wanted to get my feelings out, but i didn't finish it in one night. The day i was feeling better, and listening to The Horror and The Wild, and decided "hey jaskier shouldn't be human." so this fic started being less about mental health, and more about whatever clusterfuck this is
> 
> you can really tell where i kinda started writing him as such
> 
> if anything is wonky, out of character, or just plain bad, tell me so maybe when i write more, i can be better
> 
> IMPORTANT WARNING: there is a scene where Geralt remembers the time he purposely crashed his bike, so be careful reading that part.

Geralt had lost his teen years to his depression. He had spent high school staying in the back of the class, refusing to interact with anyone, had been bullied for his silence, and had walked out of his senior year with no friends, and his diploma in hand. He was considered unapproachable by his classmates, and used it to his advantage in order to survive. 

His parents weren’t the best. In fact, he had only known them until he was seven, when his mother fucked off, leaving him behind at some random gas station, drunk off her mind. He was found by an old man, Vesemir, who had zero experience raising children, but was willing to try for him. He wasn’t the worst parent; Geralt loved him with all his heart, but he didn’t know anything about what Geralt was going through. So Geralt had kept quiet, and left his thoughts unsaid. 

In his adult years, he had spent months trying to repress every emotion that had come to him, in order to avoid being hurt, because if they didn’t know how deep their words had cut him, they didn’t win. It was better to pretend to be indifferent then to show your emotions on your sleeve. He spent those months having large amounts of sex, drinking copious amounts of alcohol, and refusing to cry at night. 

Then Calanthe, Vesemir's oldest friend, had gone and died, leaving her granddaughter Ciri in the hands of Vesemir. Vesemir was too old to take care of children; could barely take care of himself. The job had fallen to Geralt, and in an instant, Geralt was a father. 

He had gotten home to his apartment, looked around, saw the dirty laundry, takeout containers, and empty beer bottles, and though _oh fuck._

It was a strange sort of bitterness; Geralt didn’t think he was cut out to be a father, looking at his life right now. But he wanted to be, wanted to prove he was better than Vesemir, or his mother, who had abandoned him as a child, all alone. 

He knew he had to do something; a child could not be raised in his conditions. He was willing to try and be better for someone he hadn’t even met yet. 

Giving up alcohol was the first step in his recovery. It took a lot out of him, and sometimes when Ciri was crying loudly in the middle of the night, he wished for a bottle to make it more bearable, but he never reached. If he did, he knew he wouldn’t be able to go back. 

He had lost his teen years to suicidal thoughts and hatred. His adult years were looking better. 

The parenting books told him to never look at Ciri as a saviour; your child should never have the job of making you better, shouldn’t have a purpose in life before they’re even one year old. But Geralt secretly did, crediting his success both to his daughter and his therapist. 

Sometimes it was hard. It is so easy to slip back into your former mindset, because it is familiar to you. His mindset had gotten him through high school; it wouldn’t lie to him now. But one look at Ciri made him think twice. He wouldn’t subject Ciri to his hatred. She didn’t deserve it. 

Now he was better. Ciri was thirteen, and his apartment was clean. He had learned to cook healthy, well balanced meals for his daughter, though he was still struggling slightly. The cabinet in the bathroom was full of pads and tampons of every size for Ciri eventually got her period, because Geralt didn’t know what to expect. Her closet was full of new clothes, and his closet was nearly empty because he didn’t care about new clothes like she did. He went to his job as a mechanic everyday, and made good money, enough for him and Ciri to live comfortably. He went to therapy twice a month, because therapy was fucking expensive in America, but he still needed to talk about his feelings, and he didn’t have friends that he trusted enough with his inner thoughts. 

(It was sad. He really fucking hated losing his teen years to depression. What could have things been like if he had been happier? If he had left high school with good memories? Does anyone leave high school with good memories?) 

He had a routine; every day he woke up and made breakfast for Ciri and himself, then kissed her goodbye and wished her an amazing day at school. Then, he got on his motorcycle and drove to his shop, and spent the day there, fixing cars and engines. Then he went home, where Ciri was already there, waiting for him. Sometimes she made dinner; sometimes he did. They watched a movie, or a few episodes of some cheesy drama Ciri wanted to check out, and then they went to bed to do it all again the next morning. 

It was safe, soft. Something Geralt never had before. He missed his old life sometimes; the sex especially, but he repressed those thoughts. 

(His therapist told him it wasn’t good to repress things, and that maybe he should try and put himself out there again, find someone to fall in love with. That was a fucking terrifying thought. Geralt said he was better now, not that he was perfect.) 

So life went on. He wasn’t willing to fuck up what he already had, so he didn’t change a thing, trying to make everyday as similar was before, so he knew exactly what to expect. 

You don’t really consider outside forces though. 

You never expect a young man to appear in your life, who makes you question every belief you have. 

* * *

There was a new neighbour moving in the apartment next to them. Ciri had pointed them out, people dragging boxes up the stairs, dropping them off in the hallway with a thump, before walking down to get more. 

“Someone is moving in,” she said to Geralt as he entered the apartment coming back from work. She was sitting at the dinner table, doing some homework, but her phone was out and the pencil abandoned. She scrolled through some social media Geralt never figured out how to work, one he never wanted to. 

“I noticed,” Geralt muttered, taking off his shoes, and hanging up his leather jacket. He walked up to her and kissed her forehead. “Did you have a good day at school?” 

Ciri stuck out her tongue in mock disgust. “It was alright. The teacher was being mean though.” 

“And how was she being mean?” Geralt asked, rifling through the kitchen shelves for something to make for dinner. They had a loaf of bread and some cheese; grilled cheese sandwiches were fairly easy to make, and Ciri loved them. He washed his hands, getting the leftover grease off them from working on engines all day. 

“She kept on calling on me because she knew I didn’t bring my assignment,” Ciri said. “The class was laughing at me.” 

“Do you want me to call the school?” Geralt asked, pulling out the ingredients, and turning on the stove. He started buttering the bread and cutting the cheese. He briefly considered heating up some soup, but decided not to. 

Ciri made a face. “No, that would be even worse. I’ll just bring it in tomorrow and show it to the teacher. Hopefully she’ll still mark it as complete.” 

“Okay,” Geralt sceptically. He remembered when he was being bullied, and was too scared to go to Vesemir. He didn’t want Ciri to feel the same way. However he knew that pushing your child to tell you things would just make them less willing to tell you. It was a very fine line to walk; he just hoped that Ciri knew she could trust him with whatever it was she was going through. 

A loud bang caused them both to look up. The person was clearly still bringing in boxes, and something heavy had been dropped. “We should go say hi,” Ciri suggested, getting up, and turning off her phone. “Welcome them to the complex.” 

“No,” Geralt said, assembling the sandwiches and putting them in a pan to cook. “We don’t know who they are.” 

“Yeah, that’s the point, dad,” Ciri sighed. “We’re going to be living next to them for however long. We should at least know who they are.” 

Geralt considered it. Ciri was right, but he didn’t want her going over there alone without him. Whoever it was could be dangerous.

(“Overprotective,” his therapist had concluded. “You’re scared of losing what you have, what you think healed you. You don’t have to watch her everyday of her life, y’know. She is going to be stifled and wish to be away from you when she’s older. You have to let her have some freedom.”) 

“I’ll visit them tomorrow,” he concluded. “See if they’re alright, then you can go.” He flipped the sandwiches, and realised that one side was burnt. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, quiet enough so Ciri didn’t hear. 

Ciri sighed. “Fine.” 

She walked over to where Geralt was cooking, and went into the fridge to get some pickles out. She got out a plate and started getting ready for the sandwiches. He used the spatula to get the sandwiches from the pan. One side was burnt, the other under cooked. Ciri didn’t seem to mind, just went back to the table, and cleared her homework away unceremoniously. Geralt got his own sandwich, and went to listen to her about something that Dara had done at lunchtime that day, and enjoyed the familiarity of it. 

* * *

He woke up in the middle of the night to thumping. He turned over and realised it was 3 am, and he had to be at work in five hours. The noises were coming from the next door apartment. It sounded like someone was putting books into piles, sorting through them. 

Geralt groaned and pulled his pillow over his head, hoping to stifle the noises. He hoped Ciri wasn’t awoken by the noise. She was a growing teenager and needed all the sleep she could get. 

High school already fucked that up for her, she didn’t need it to be worse. 

* * *

Geralt had a fucked up relationship with religion. He respected it - don’t get him wrong. But it was hard to love and trust a God that seemed intent on fucking everything up for him. It was hard to believe in a God whose followers preached hate. 

He was also 90% sure his mother had been religious. That might have something to do with it, this mistrust in him.

The point was, Geralt didn’t believe in a God, or in any gods. He had no need for one in his life, not anymore. He wasn’t raising Ciri religiously, but if she ever expressed an interest in it, he’d put aside his own opinions and go with her. He loved her, and wanted her to explore herself, and he would help her do so in any way he could. 

* * *

Geralt slowly trudged up the stairs. He lived on the third floor of the apartment, and he was really fucking tired of walking. He barely got any sleep because of the noises coming from next door, and it showed. His eyes were dark, and his co-workers had pointed out he was more grumpy than usual, which really shouldn’t have been possible. He was already quite a disagreeable man, and the lack of sleep had made it worse. He felt like he should pity his coworkers that were forced to deal with him all day, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

His hands were sore and covered in grease as he finally reached for the doorknob of his apartment. He stopped suddenly. He could hear voices coming from inside the room. He hoped it was just Dara coming over for a surprise dinner, but somehow doubted it. 

He opened the door and there was a man he had never seen before sitting at his kitchen table, laughing. Ciri was sitting across from him, giggling. Ciri’s homework was between them, pencil marks over the paper. 

The young man had floppy brown hair, and brilliant blue eyes. He was wearing a floral button-up and ripped jeans. His nails were painted bright pink, and Geralt was 90% sure he was wearing lipstick or maybe his lips were just naturally that red. 

Geralt hated the look of him right away. 

The man didn’t seem real, like he was a product of a fever dream. The ends around him blurred, and the room seemed larger with him in it, as if he were the center of everything. The man made him doubt that the world was all sharp lines, and proper corners. Geralt shoved that thought to the far corners of his mind. 

“What the fuck?” Geralt growled and stalked into the room, glaring at the man. The man quickly got up and backed away, hands held up in surrender. Geralt knew he was intimidating; he had bright yellow eyes, long white hair and a body covered in scars from one too many biking accidents. Of course people were scared of him. People would cross the street to get away from him when he walked by and he took pride in that. “Who the fuck are you?” 

“Dad, calm down,” Ciri said, getting up and running in front of him. She looked pissed, and slightly worried. “He’s a guest dad, I invited him over.” 

The young man looked between the two. “This is your father?” He asked, voice slightly squeaky. “From the way you described him, the white hair, I thought he would be an old man, but this-” he smiled and dropped his hands. “This is a god. Holy hell. What is your workout routine?” 

Ciri and Geralt turned to him in shock. “Did you just hit on my dad?” Ciri asked, sounding like a mixture of both disgust and amusement. 

“I am very sorry miss,” the young man said, sounding legitimately sorry, but winking discreetly at Geralt. “I’m just a little shocked, that’s all. How can you blame me in the face of such perfection!” 

“You haven’t answered my question,” Geralt cut in, ignoring the man's flirtations. He glared at the young man, and the man just smirked back not fazed at all, the Geralt was momentarily taken aback. 

“How incredibly rude of me! To invade someone's home and not even introduce myself! I’m sorry.” He bounded up to Geralt and held out his hand. Geralt looked at it suspiciously and didn’t take it, and the young man pulled it back with a huff. “I am Jaskier, your new next door neighbour.” 

Geralt looked at Ciri angrily, turning away from the man, Jaskier. “I told you I would go talk to him tonight so you didn’t have to.” 

Ciri huffed. “He came to me! I got home from school and he knocked on the door. He brought dinner dad!” She pointed to the table where a container with soup was steaming. “I didn't want to be rude, so I invited him in. It turns out he is really good at maths, so he was helping me with an assignment.” 

“Next time Ciri,” Geralt said, finally relaxing. He was still incredibly tense, but some of the earlier terror had evaporated now that he knew his daughter was safe. “Don’t invite people you don’t know into the house, okay?” 

“Okay dad,” Ciri sighed. “But look at him! He looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly.” 

Jaskier let out an offended squawk. Geralt looked him up and down; Ciri was right. He looked skinny, as if he didn’t eat enough. He looked almost like a strong gust of wind would come and knock him down, despite his overwhelming presence. 

Geralt knew that didn’t mean anything; murderers came in all shapes and sizes. But he really couldn’t imagine this flamboyant man being anything but really fucking annoying. The young man almost trembled slightly, like he had drank too much coffee before coming over, and he looked like he could never manage to hurt anyone. 

Geralt sighed and approached the man. “I’m Geralt,” he said, sounding like he really didn’t want to be talking at all. His voice had always been low and gruff, and it almost sounded like a growl. “Ciri’s father.” 

Jaskier smirked at him, and with a start, Geralt realised that Jaskier was almost as tall as him, with only a few inches of difference. For some reason that pissed him off. 

“I know, Ciri told me about you. But I have to say, she really didn’t do you justice.” Jaskier laughed as Geralt glared harder. He didn’t say anything in return to Jaskier, choosing to keep his mouth shut. 

“Will you stay for dinner? It isn’t fair that you made us a meal and you don’t even get to eat it.” Ciri said. Jaskier turned to her. 

“I’m sorry but I still need to be doing some unpacking. I did some last night, but I still have a lot to get done.” Ciri looked disappointed, but nodded in agreement. 

Geralt suddenly remembered the noises last night and how they had kept him up all night. “I know,” he said wryly, “I heard you. The whole apartment heard you.” 

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, sounding devastated. His hands moved all over the place as he talked, and Geralt wonders if he ever accidentally slapped someone in the face while talking. “I didn’t think I was being that loud. Really, you should have something. Next time just come over and slap me, I really would have stopped.” 

Geralt thought that if the young man continued his rambling he really would be slapped. There was something about his voice that just really grated on Geralt’s nerves, made him want to throw the man out on his ass and slam the door behind him. 

“Just be more considerate next time,” he said instead, and Jaskier nodded. 

“I’m very sorry about that,” he said again. “If I had known, I would have stopped. I just needed to get it done, and I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d get some work in.” 

Geralt just wondered why he would still be up at that hour, doing work. Looking at the man he couldn’t see any indication of exhaustion. He wished he could have that much energy. 

“Maybe we could help you unpack,” Ciri suggested, and Geralt turned to her in horror. Ciri shrugged, smirking slightly at him. The little shit, she knew exactly what she was doing. 

“That would be a wonderful idea, but not tonight. Your father looks like he wants to skin me alive,” Jaskier joked, unaware of how true it really was. “You can come over tomorrow if you want and help me set up some shelves.” 

“Okay,” Ciri says happily, and Geralt can’t open his mouth to tell her no. He instead huffed and headed to the table to get the soup Jaskier brought. It smelled heavenly, and he tried not to show how much he was looking forward to trying some. 

Jaskier walked over to the door, and opened it. “Hope you enjoy the soup,” he called over his shoulder. “It was nice to meet the both of you. Good luck on your assignments Miss Ciri.” He left, slamming the door behind him. 

The apartment seemed emptier without him and his voice echoing through the room, like a fucking battle cry. 

Geralt automatically turned to Ciri, and glared at her. She looked innocently back at him. “No matter how harmless someone looks, never let them into the apartment,” he said. “What if Jaskier had actually been someone coming to hurt you.” He tried to use anger to mask his worry, hoping that Ciri would understand him. 

(His therapist had said that was a horrible way to show emotion, and to always remember that anger was a secondary emotion. Try and figure out what you were feeling before getting angry to help ease the feeling, and not fuck everything up.

That’s why he liked her so much. She wasn’t afraid to swear, and he appreciated that, didn’t think she treated him like he was breakable like his last therapist.) 

“Then I would have fought him,” Ciri pointed out, not fazed at all. “You literally have swords hung up by the mantle. I could have used them.” 

That was true. They were Geralt’s pride and joy, and he occasionally took them down to clean them, or to admire them. He had acquired them four years ago from Vesemir, and they were hung up with love and care. 

He sighed. “Just be careful Ciri,” Geralt said, moving into the kitchen to reheat the soup. “You were lucky this time. You might not be again.” 

“Okay, okay dad,” Ciri said, sounding exasperated, and that was the end of it. They heated up the soup, and ate it in little plastic containers because all their bowels were in the dishwasher. It was scarily good, with little chunks of potato and bacon. Jaskier was a wonderful cook Geralt admitted. 

So it was fine. Their new neighbour wasn’t that bad besides being super fucking annoying. Geralt could handle that. He would buy some ear plugs if he ever needed them. 

(Their last neighbours had probably been in a cult, and Geralt had made sure to never let Ciri get too close to any of them, so really, this was an improvement from before.) 

* * *

The next day was Saturday, so Ciri slept in late. Geralt didn’t go to work on this day, and part of Sunday, so he had lots of free time to spend with his daughter. These were the days he treasured most. He didn’t sleep in with Ciri though. He always got up at the same time, to continue his routine. It was the only thing that gave him stability. 

Ciri woke up five hours after him, at 11 am. She walked into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes, and yawning. Geralt hadn’t bothered to make breakfast for her, knowing it would be cold by the time she woke up, so Ciri went into the pantry and got out some cereal. She was still wearing her pyjamas, a gift given to her by Yennefer. 

Yennefer was the only friend Geralt had, though their friendship was rocky at best. They fought quite a bit, and often spent weeks refusing to talk to each other. He had known her since he was a teenager, and was using sex to fill a hole inside him. She had stuck around after he got better, the only one of his ‘friends’ to do so, and helped him start raising Ciri, though he couldn’t tell why. She hadn’t been around lately, too busy working on her cases. She was a popular lawyer, and was scary good at it too. He wondered if she had healed like he had, if she had found a way to get better. 

Ciri still called her Aunty Yen. 

“Good morning,” he said, watching as she almost missed the bowl with the milk. He was reading a newspaper, and looked up at her angry muttering. 

“Jesus,” she muttered. “When can I start drinking coffee dad. I’m really tired, that’ll help me wake up.” 

“You can drink it when you’re fifteen,” Geralt said, the same answer he had given her for the last year. She groaned, and started eating. He wished she would sit down, instead of holding the bowl in one shaky hand while she stood, scared she would drop it. 

She finished the bowl and put the dishes in the sink. She walked over to where he sat. “Dad, I’m heading over to Jaskier’s place today okay? I’m going to help him unpack, like I said yesterday. I’ve got nothing better to do today.” 

Geralt stopped and remembered what Ciri had promised. He groaned. “I’ll be coming with you if you do,” he warned. Ciri cheered, and ran into her room to get dressed, so she could be a little more presentable. 

Jaskier didn’t care about that clearly. 

Geralt had followed Ciri out and watched as she knocked on the door. It was almost lunchtime. Jaskier had opened it after a few seconds, wearing only a small silk gown, and holding a giant cup of iced coffee. His hair was messy and his cheeks were flushed bright red. 

Geralt blushed slightly at his state of undress and resisted the urge to cover Ciris eyes. The man was slender, and Geralt didn’t even try to pretend that when he was still drinking alcohol, Jaskier would be the type of man he would be taking home at night. He tried to push all those thoughts from his head. 

Jaskier looked tired, as if he had just woken up. His eyes widened as he saw them. “Oh, hello,” he said, and then remembered what he was wearing. He at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting guests this early. Come in, come in.” 

He led them into his house, and brought them into the living room. It was covered in boxes, and stacks of books in varying languages. He had already done a little unpacking, and the couch was in the corner. On the wall hung a picture, and Geralt looked at it carefully. It was a younger Jaskier, probably fifteen, sitting by the ocean, wearing a long dress that was soaked in water, and streaked with dirt. He looked surprised, like he wasn't expecting the picture to be taken. The colours were muted, almost like a polaroid, and the background was strange, almost blurry. He wondered why Jaskier would have hung this picture up, such a low quality photo. 

Behind him Jaskier was talking animatedly to Ciri. He had thrown on a baggy hoodie from some pile, and the lacy dress peaked out of the bottom. “-I thought you would have come later, otherwise I would have prepared for you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ciri said. “I thought it would be good to get an early start. We can leave if you want.” 

Geralt wished that Jaskier would tell them to get out, just so he could avoid this confrontation. He silently begged the universe for Jaskier to tell them to leave, so he could go back home and relax.

“Don’t do that! You’ve already got here. I’ll just go get dressed, then we can begin, okay?” 

Fuck, luck wasn’t on his side today. Geralt let out a string of curses in his head, but tried not to let his irritation show on his face. 

Jaskier ran off into his apartment to get changed, and Geralt and Ciri were left alone. Geralt glared at her, and Ciri stuck out her tongue playfully. She walked over to where Geralt was, looking at the picture. “He looks pretty,” she said, standing on her toes to look at it. “I wonder who took the picture.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Geralt huffed. “Don’t pry into his private life. You dragged us into this, you already promised you would help him, you have to do the work, but don’t say anything.” 

Ciri nodded. “Got it.” She stepped away from the picture and instead looked at Geralt. 

Jaskier came back a few minutes later, dressed in a pair of baggy jeans and a t-shirt. It was a simple outfit, comfortable and easy to work in. He downed the rest of his coffee, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

They soon settled into a steady rhythm. Ciri was in the kitchen, putting his cutlery and kitchenware away in the cabinets. Geralt was helping Jaskier set up his bed frame. He had been sleeping on a mattress on the floor, and Geralt could feel the back pain just from looking at it. 

“It's really kind of you and Ciri to help me,” Jaskier was saying, rambling in Geralt’s ear as he held up a bedpost, and when he wasn’t talking, he was singing under his breath, a jaunty little tune. Geralt had the drill and was putting it together for him. He was on his knees, the instructions on the floor beside him. He occasionally looked down, trying to follow the picture provided. “This would have taken forever to do by myself.” 

Geralt hummed, trying to block out Jaskiers voice, as he focused on putting the screws in. 

“So what is it that you do Mr. Geralt Rivia?” Jaskier asked. Geralt finished putting the screws in and he put the bedpost on its side on the floor. He wiped his forehead like it had been him doing the work, not Geralt. 

“I’m a mechanic,” Geralt replied, pointing to the other bedpost. Jaskier rolled his eyes and picked it up for him. 

“How boring. Is that all you do, fix cars all day? I’m a bartender and musician,” he explained. “It pays pretty well, but holy fuck, you will not believe the types of people that come around. There was this one lady, who still dressed like it was a 1950’s. Which was cool as hell, but still pretty strange. Anyways, she drank every man there under the table and won over 800 dollars, which was amazing to watch.” He sighed sadly. “I never saw her again after that. We still talk about her everyday at work.”

Geralt has never wanted someone to shut up more in his life. He wondered if this man had ever been silent in his life. 

They finished the bed frame with Jaskier yammering in Geralt's ear every step of the way. Ciri finished putting away the kitchenware and joined them about halfway through, holding the screws for Geralt so they didn’t get lost in the messy room. Ciri listened wide eyed to Jaskiers tales, which were highly exaggerated horseshit. Geralt didn’t believe for a second Jaskier had grown up on an island in the middle of the sea, and spent his childhood swimming down into the depths of the sea until he swore he could see a Megalodon. Ciri didn’t either, but still listened closely to Jaskier as he told them about watching his sister fly away through the window, and watching his brother flick the light bulbs on and off. He had a way of storytelling that was so easy to engage in, and Geralt found himself unwillingly following along. 

The man was eccentric, and even if he was telling untruths, his childhood must have been fairly uneventful to produce such beautiful lies. 

They got almost halfway done when Jaskier stopped. It had been a few hours already, and they had gotten a lot of work done.”I’ll get you some early supper” he said, and went into the kitchen. “Ciri could you help me? You know where everything is.” 

Geralt sat awkwardly as Ciri and Jaskier bustled around the kitchen, making some kind of meal. Things were less crowded now that some of the boxes were unpacked, and now Geralt could see the beginnings of a very strange apartment. Jaskier had many paintings that weren’t hung up yet, strange colours and shapes on the canvases, leaned up against the walls. Heavy, mismatched curtains were over the windows, and a large box full of jewellery was spilled over the floor, jewels and stones shining in the lights. Geralt’s own apartment was minimalist, with no decorations, yet Jaskier seemed to love them. They filled box after box, and Geralt wondered how someone could pay that money for stupid decorations that just made everything look more chaotic.

A plate was set down in front of him, and Geralt looked up into Jaskiers eyes. “It’s chicken curry,” he explained, before sitting across from him. Ciri sat next to Jaskier with her own plate. “God, I haven’t eaten in a few days, this looks amazing,” he said, looking at the food with shining eyes. 

“Why haven’t you eaten?” Ciri asked, looking worried. Jaskier smiled at her reassuringly. 

“Don’t do what I do honey-” he stopped. “Sorry about the pet name, that was weird, I didn’t mean anything by it, but I just forget things easily. It’s not a big deal.” 

“The name is fine. And Dad says that everyone needs three balanced meals each day,” Ciri recited. Geralt felt pride swell in his chest at her words. She did listen to him when he talked about health. “Or else you won’t have the nutrients to survive the day.” 

Geralt took a bite of the meal, and wondered why Jaskier didn’t eat much when he cooked so well. Maybe that was why he was so skinny, because he forgot to eat like a normal person. 

“Your dad is absolutely correct,” Jaskier said, taking a bite. “I’m just really forgetful. This is really good.” He took another bigger bite. “I should make it more often.” 

After eating, Jaskier took their plates and put them into the sink. He cleaned up the kitchen while Ciri watched, talking about school with him. Geralt sat at the table awkwardly, wishing he brought his phone so he could have something to do. 

“So what are we doing now?” Ciri asked, stretching. She yawned, still a little tired from that morning. Geralt wondered how much sleep she had gotten, then wondered if he should continue letting her charge her laptop in her room. 

“Oh don’t worry,” Jaskier said. “I don’t have much else for you to do, and I have to leave for my job soon, so you two can go home. Thank you so much for the help. I wish I could pay you, but I’m trying to save some money. Is there something else I could do?” 

Geralt internally sighed with relief, desperate to get home. “You don’t need to do anything,” he said. “We’re fine.” 

Jaskier ignored him. “Maybe I could take you to my bar. You can have a few drinks, and even take some treats home for Ciri. You can listen to me sing!” He gasped in delight. “An excellent idea if I do say so myself. What about tonight?” 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t drink,” Geralt said, trying to make his voice sound forceful. He had no doubt that this young man would fight back if he didn’t. 

“Oh.” Jaskier replied, sounding surprised. “Well, I mean good for you then. But there has to be something I could do.” 

Geralt wondered why he was protesting so much. They had already said it was fine, so why was he continuing to push. A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his therapist whispered, “childhood trauma bro.” 

Ciri cut in. “It’s fine Jaskier, it’s just what neighbours do. You don’t need to do anything in return.” 

Jaskier argued back and forth for a while with her, before finally giving up. “Just know that if you need anything, I’m right next door,” he said, watching them leave. Ciri nodded, and then they left, and returned to their own apartment. 

“Thank fuck,” Geralt muttered, shutting the door. “Don’t ever do that again,” he said, wagging his finger at Ciri. “That was horrible.” 

“You didn’t have to come with dad,” Ciri said, and Geralt did know how to explain to her that he did, to make sure she was okay. 

* * *

Ciri was baking chocolate chip cookies. The smell filled the air, and Geralt’s stomach rumbled. They smelled amazing, and when they came out of the oven, they looked even better. 

“I wonder if Jaskier has eaten,” she muttered to herself, and Geralt wondered why she cared, why she seemed to like their annoying new neighbour. 

She left a plate on Jaskiers door, with a little note, saying: _I hope you enjoy them! From Ciri and Geralt._

Ciri had written it and put Geralt's name on it too. He didn’t want her to and told her not no, but she did anyway. 

Their plate had been returned the next morning. On it were some brownies, which smelled heavenly, with their note on top. Jaskier had added: _Thank you my dears! :)_

Geralt rolled his eyes, but had to admit that the brownies were fucking amazing. 

* * *

Geralt was walking up the stairs, ready to go home and eat dinner. Jaskier was walking down at the same time, and they ran into each other at the bottom of the second flight of stairs. Jaskier was wearing a button up shirt, with the top few buttons undone, and a pair of skinny jeans. His hair was tousled, and his heels gave him an extra bit of height. Geralt wondered what kind of bar he worked at that allowed him to dress up like that. 

He had to admit that he looked kind of cute though. 

“Hello Geralt,” Jaskier waved, sounding way too preppy for Geralt, who was tired and pissed. He just wanted to go home and sleep, and rest his weary hands. 

Jaskier passed by, smelling of floral perfume. Geralt’s eyes followed him, and were drawn to some bruises on Jaskiers neck, bright purple and green, with teeth marks sunk deep into his skin. They didn’t look like they were made by someone loving; instead like someone had tried to tear Jaskier’s throat out. He could swear he could see some dried blood somewhere. 

He felt a familiar anger rise up in him at the harsh wounds, and he had to force his eyes away. He didn’t care what Jaskier got up to in his spare time. It didn’t concern him. Instead he grunted at Jaskier and continued walking to his apartment, trying not to think about the horrendous marks on Jaskiers slender neck. 

Jaskier continued bounding down the stairs, his footsteps missing every second step, creating a beat using his feet. He soon disappeared, and the stairwell went silent once more. 

Geralt continued walking up. A man passed by, going down as well. He was big and muscular, wearing a denim jacket and heavy combat boots that thumped on the floor. He bumped shoulders with Geralt as they passed each other, and Geralt stumbled. The man sent him a nasty glare as he walked by. Geralt knew he did it on purpose, but he didn’t turn around to fight. He didn’t think it was worth it today. 

The man had snarled at Geralt as he walked by, as he was declaring war, but on what, Geralt didn’t know. 

He finally made it to his apartment and opened the door. Ciri was in her room watching Netflix, and the place was silent. Geralt hung up his coat, and with a sigh, started making dinner. Homemade pizza was always a good choice, even though Ciri yelled at him every time for putting pineapple on it. It was an ongoing battle between the two, but Geralt would always make one side free of the fruit for Ciri. 

Everything was silent for a while, and Geralt worked in peace. 

“Hey dad,” Ciri suddenly called from her room. Geralt looked up from his half-made supper in the direction of her room. “Do you think you could help me with something?” 

Geralt abandoned his supper and walked into Ciri’s room. She was sitting on her bed, papers and books around her, and a pencil in her hand. She looked upset, and Geralt wanted to fix whatever was wrong for her. 

“I need help with my homework,” she said, picking up some papers and holding them out to him. Geralt took them in one hand, and looked them over. 

“What the fuck?” he mumbled after a few minutes. Ciri laughed. 

“That’s exactly what I thought too. I can’t do it, I don’t understand a single thing.” 

“Don’t they teach you anything at school?” Geralt mumbled, thumbing through her assignment, trying to make sense of the equations written on the paper. His brain couldn’t comprehend anything that was being taught, and his head swam. 

“They do, they just aren’t good at it.” 

Geralt hummed. He continued looking through, trying to piece together the numbers written, but he couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t remember anything he learned in high school, and even if he did, he learned a while ago that the teaching methods had changed. Even if he could understand it, it would be hell trying to teach Ciri his own way at teaching. He eventually put the papers down, and gave up. 

“Ask your teacher about it tomorrow. And if you can’t understand it later, I guess we’ll hire a tutor.” 

Ciri nodded, then hopped off her bed, and took the papers from Geralt’s hands. She put them together with her books, then shoved them into her backpack, not even caring how some creased. 

“What’s for supper?” she asked, walking out of her room. Geralt followed her. 

“Pizza.” 

“Hell yeah!” She cheered, and pumped a fist. 

Geralt chuckled at her excitement, forgetting to reprimand her for the swear, then walked back to the kitchen to continue making supper. 

* * *

“So I was talking to Jaskier after I came home from school,” Ciri said as soon as Geralt entered the apartment. She ran right to him as soon as he opened the door, talking about Jaskier. Geralt internally groaned; he was getting tired of hearing about the new neighbour, especially from his own daughter. “And I mentioned I was failing maths, and he offered to tutor me for free!” Ciri followed him around, as he hung up his jacket, and took off his boots. “So how about it dad?” 

“Are you sure he said he would do it for free?” Geralt questioned, going into the kitchen. He could see some pasta on the go. Ciri had already started on supper. All they needed were some vegetables cut up. 

“Yeah, he did. I would just be going over to his apartment after school. Don’t worry, I’ll be home in time to see you get here,” Ciri reassured. Geralt sat down at the kitchen table, and thought about it. 

“Fine,” he muttered. He did admit that it was easier for Jaskier to teach her. It required no driving or walking around the city, and Jaskier was offering for free, so it wouldn’t cost them anything. It would be a shame not to take it. 

Besides, the man didn’t look like he was too much of a threat. Geralt knew he could easily take him if even a little harm came to his daughter. 

* * *

Geralt got home the next day a little later than usual. It was Wednesday, and all he wanted was for the week to finally end. Dealing with angry customers was really tiring, and sometimes all he wanted was to hurt them really badly. When they complained about even the smallest things he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was thinking rather murderous thoughts that would ensue that if there was even a small chance he was getting into heaven, that was gone in an instant. His therapist said that was normal; that everyone had thoughts like that. It was just when you acted on those thoughts did it become a problem. So he instead asked them politely if he could do anything to fix the problem, and contented himself in imagining their violent demise. 

The only consolation was that he had brought home some Japanese food from their local restaurant. He had gotten sushi, Ciris favourite, even though he hated the stuff. He really didn’t know how anyone could enjoy the food, but Ciri loved it, so he always got it for her, to make her happy. 

“Ciri,” he called out as he entered the apartment, and Ciri came out of her room with a sigh. He half expected not to see her, for her to still be over at Jaskiers place, learning math equations. 

“Hey dad.” She noticed the bag in his grasp and pointed to it. “What’s that?” she asked, curious. 

He held up the plastic bag that contained the food proudly. “I bought sushi. Your favourite.” 

Ciri's face was suddenly full of guilt, and Geralt felt that pride dim. Ciri looked like she had done something she wasn’t supposed to, and Geralt mentally prepared himself for whatever she said. 

She tapped her fingers against her thigh anxiously. “I’m really sorry dad, but I already ate. Jaskier offered to make me some dinner while I was over at his place. We had some steak and bread.” 

Geralt tried to hide how much that hurt him, because he still remembered his teen years, where it was better to show indifference than your emotions. Though he couldn’t understand why it hurt as much as it did. It was just a meal. 

Ciri must have seen something in his expression, because she waved her hands wildly and hurried to fix it. “I’ll still eat it though. Don’t worry.” 

“It’s fine,” Geralt murmured. “You didn’t know. You can bring it tomorrow for lunch.” 

Ciri sighed in relief and slumped. “I’m really sorry dad, if I had known I wouldn’t have eaten anything he made.” She looked so sincere and genuine, Geralt felt some of his irritation melt away. 

He pulled her into a hug, and she wrapped her arms around him tightly. “Thanks dad,” she said quietly, and Geralt pet her hair soothingly. She pulled away after a few seconds. “I got some work done though. Jaskier is a really good teacher. I actually understood it for once.” 

And fuck, she mentioned Jaskier again. Geralt felt his blood boil just at the mention of the young man. 

(A weird part of him remembered the bruises on Jaskiers neck, the ones that looked like some animal had tried to tear his throat out. He wondered what it would be like to be the one doing it.) 

Ciri went to the couch and began to excitedly talk about her time at Jaskiers, and Geralt tried to tune out all stories about the young man, disgusted at the strange path his thoughts had taken, but unwilling to ignore his daughter. He followed her and laid down on the couch, listening to her voice. 

All he got from it was “maths,” “tapestry,” and “flying,” as he felt himself slowly fall into unconsciousness. 

* * *

“Dad, did you know that Jaskier used to live on the coast when he was young? He said he used to go swimming everyday!” 

“Dad, did you know that Jaskier used to know someone who could see into the future?” 

“Dad, did you know that Jaskier has a sister that could turn into a bird and a brother that can control electricity?” 

It was Jaskier this, Jaskier that. Geralt was getting really tired of hearing the name. If he had to hear one more of one of Jaskiers fucked up stories, he was going to quite possibly murder the man. 

“You do know he is probably lying, right?” Geralt said tiredly. They were eating dinner, and Ciri was retelling a story that Jaskier had told her while she was at his apartment, about his childhood best friend, who had fought against an evil wizard and lost. Ciri had made burgers, and Geralt practically devoured his. 

“Of course he’s lying dad, but it was amazing! He is an amazing story teller.” She looked at his disbelieving look and huffed. “You’d have to be there to understand.” 

Geralt snorted. Then: “A sister that could turn into a bird and a brother that could control electricity?” He remembered Jaskier first telling him that story while they set up his bed frame, but only very distantly. He hadn’t been paying much attention then, trying to get the job done, then get out.

“That’s what he says. It’s not true though, obviously, but it was amazing to hear,” Ciri rambled. “He even had this weird tapestry with pictures on it with his siblings. He showed it to me, and told me about them. You should have seen it dad, it was so cool.” 

Geralt was glad he hadn’t. He doesn’t think he would be able to handle the fantastical bullshit Jaskier sprouted on the daily. He hummed, and continued eating his dinner, trying to ignore the fact that his new neighbour seemed to be insane. 

* * *

Sometimes Geralt saw Jaskier while he was coming back from the mechanics, and Jaskier was heading out to make drinks at whatever bar he worked at. He was always wearing ridiculous outfits that so obviously marked him as queer. Jaskier would always wave wildly when he saw Geralt, and Geralt would try and ignore how pretty Jaskier looked in his clothes. Sometimes he would have teeth marks imprinted on his skin, and Geralt would have to look away from the wounds, caught between wanting to do the same to Jaskier, and wanting to hunt down the person who had hurt him. It didn’t look like an admission of love, rather an admission of violence, and Geralt wondered what kind of man would do that. A man of war, drugs, and violence, it seemed. 

That was really the only interaction they had with each other, beyond Ciri. Sometimes Ciri would tell Geralt that, “Jaskier says hi!” and Geralt would grunt in response. If he knew anything at all, she was probably telling Jaskier about it, teasing him without him there, imitating his voice. 

Jaskier had been tutoring Ciri for three weeks and she was noticeably improving, when her class began preparing for a unit exam that was worth 10% of their grade. Ciri was frantic, trying to study as much as she could. She was spending longer hours at Jaskiers place to study. Sometimes Geralt would come home and the apartment would be empty. He would always feel a flash of fear when it happened, but then Ciri would come in, only a few minutes behind, and Geralt would settle down again now that he knew Ciri was safe. 

(“You never want to be a helicopter parent,” his therapist said. “It just makes them want to push those limits, to fight you until they’re free. Let them be free and give them privacy, and they will always come back to you.”) 

The day of the exam Ciri had woken up early, and tried to eat a balanced breakfast, and had spent the meal flipping through her text books. Geralt felt bad for her, and let her have a tiny cup of coffee. She had added a large amount of sugar and cream to it. Geralt had shuddered, and resisted the urge to make that stupid joke of “wow, you want coffee with that sugar?” knowing Ciri wouldn’t appreciate it. 

He spent the day worrying about it, probably as much as Ciri was, if not more. Ciri was getting older, and even though she was still young at thirteen, things in school were getting harder for her. Soon she would have to deal with final exams, then diplomas, then entry exams for universities, and then she would be gone. 

Fuck, she was getting older. Soon she wouldn’t need him anymore. She would be an adult, living on her own. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He dropped a wrench on his toe, and cursed loudly. His coworkers looked over at him in fear, and he snarled at them in return, too worried to care what they thought of him. 

He would have to talk to his therapist. Their two month meetups weren’t enough, but it was all he could afford. In a few days his second appointment of the month would be coming up, and Geralt made a mental note to talk about Ciri, and his fears about losing her. 

He stopped by a local bakery to pick up some cupcakes for the both of them. Chocolate for Ciri, and carrot cake for him. 

When he reached his door, he could hear voices, but this time he recognised the person behind the voice. He entered and there was Jaskier, sitting cross legged on the counter, ignoring the perfectly good chair by the table. Jaskier was wearing a long coat that spilled around him, and a pair of knee length shorts. A large pair of sunglasses was next to him. He looked like he belonged there, sitting on the kitchen counter of Geralt’s apartment. That was a strange thought, Jaskier belonging to the apartment. His knees shook, as if he was trying to escape his own body, and his hands trembled as he combed them through his hair. 

“Why hello there Geralt,” Jaskier waved, like it wasn’t Geralt's house, but his own. “How are you doing tonight?” 

He grunted and glared at Jaskier. Ciri was bustling around the kitchen, and Jaskier was watching her work. “Hey dad,” Ciri called. “Jaskier was just telling me how to make some roast potatoes for dinner.” 

“I was going to make them, but Ciri insisted on doing the work,” Jaskier said proudly, as if he had some fucking reason to be proud of her the way Geralt was. “She is really talented, your daughter. I’m envious, I really am! But she didn’t know how to make them, so I’ve just been telling her what to do from the counter.” 

“Ciri, what is he doing here?” Geralt asked, dropping all niceties. He dropped the cupcakes by Jaskier who smiled nervously at him. Geralt ignored him, and stared at his daughter. 

“Well dad,” Ciri said, drying her hands with a towel. “I got my test back today-” 

“That quickly?” Geralt asked, confused. When he was a kid, it had taken at least a week for their grades to be revealed, a week full of anxiety and stress. 

Ciri sighed, like it was a huge chore to explain everything to him. “I did it on a scantron. It just needs to go through the system and the marks are automatically uploaded. Anyway, I got my test back and guess what I got on it?” She looked so happy, Geralt could help but indulge her. 

“What?” 

“I got an 86%. It wasn’t the highest mark, but it was one of the best!” 

Geralt felt his chest swell in pride. “That’s amazing,” he murmured. Math wasn’t his daughter's strong suit, and she usually got between 70% and 50%, so it was a big deal for her to get such a high mark. 

“Yeah! And it’s all thanks to Jaskier,” Ciri said and pointed at the man, who was hugging his knees close to his body. Geralt could see his bare knees, a large bruise on each one. He tried not to think of the implications of that. The man beamed happily, and Geralt wanted to punch him hard. “So I ran over and told him, and he said that we needed to celebrate. So I invited him over for dinner. I could have sworn I texted you about it.” 

Geralt sheepishly looked at her. “My phone died at work.” 

She sighed in disappointment. “Of course,” she said to Jaskier, as if it were an inside joke, and Jaskier chuckled. Geralt felt his blood boil at their familiarness. 

“I thought I told you to stop letting strange men into our apartment?” he growled. 

“Hey! I’m not strange,” Jaskier protested, cutting into the conversation. Ciri looked at him in mock pity, ignoring Geralt. 

“You’re a little strange,” she said teasingly and Jaskier gasped. 

“You’re mean,” he pouted, and Geralt was momentarily stunned by how childish this young man was. He pouted and complained regularly, and didn’t ever shut up. Geralt wondered what kind of childhood he would have had that made him act it out now at twenty-one. 

(“Many kids grow up too fast in abusive households, and when they finally get their freedom, they try and act out their lost childhood in their adult years,” his therapist said.) 

Jaskier almost didn’t seem real to him. 

The oven dinged and Ciri grabbed a pair of oven mitts, and took out a pan full of sliced potatoes, covered in rosemary and dill. They smelled delicious, and Geralt’s mouth watered. He privately agreed that however annoying Jaskier was, he was an amazing chef, and that Ciri could probably benefit from having someone teach her some meals. Geralt knew some, at least enough to keep her fed, but he wasn’t the best. What he knew came from parenting books, but that was all. 

Jaskier hopped off the counter to get some plates ready. Geralt watched him walk through his kitchen like he lived there, going right to the cabinet where the plates were shelved. He took three plates outs, and Geralt’s heart stopped. 

He should have known Jaskier was eating over, invading his space, but the physical representation of it made it more real. Geralt mentally prepared himself for a night of listening to the young man telling story after story that were clearly made-up, created from his extensive imagination. 

They dished up, with sour cream and onions on top of the potatoes, and sat down at the kitchen table. Ciri sat next to Jaskier, and listened to him talk, leaning closer to him. Geralt could see how she might find him amusing; he had a way of captivating his audience while he talked, keeping their attention locked on him. His hands moved all over the place. Geralt thought he could be a successful magician if he wanted, being able to keep the focus on one thing, while doing something else in his other hand. Jaskier told them about his job, and some of the weirder customers he had gotten, and Geralt felt him being unwillingly pulled away from the dinner table with Jaskiers voice. He transported them into the worlds of other people, like leading them on a tour through other people's lives. 

“Wow, you sure live an interesting life,” Ciri hummed when he was finished. Her plate was empty, but she still sat at the table, listening to Jaskier talk. Jaskier had finished as well, but he didn’t have much on his plate to begin with. 

“I know a lot of interesting people, that’s all.” Jaskier said. “My boyfriend knows some pretty weird people as well. You really don’t know what’s going on in the city, until you meet someone who has pretty far connections.” 

“You have a boyfriend?” Geralt asked, surprised, though he really shouldn’t be. Jaskier was young and attractive, of course he would be dating someone. Geralt hadn’t been on a date in forever. He almost forgot what it was like to wake up next to someone in your bed. 

He tried to ignore the jealousy he felt over Jaskiers relationship. He had given up that life a long time ago. 

“Yeah, we’ve been dating for about a few weeks now. We met at the bar,” Jaskier explained, then reached into his coat pocket for his phone. He flipped through for a few minutes, then showed Geralt and Ciri a picture. It was the man who had bumped into Geralt that one day, who didn’t apologise. He looked mean, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and in the middle of an eye roll. Like Jaskier, he looked out of place in the picture, like he shouldn't be there. “His name is Garrett,” Jaskier continued. 

Of course his name was Garrett. He certainly looked like it. Geralt wouldn’t trust him with his life, wouldn’t trust a word he said. 

It was probably the same man that tried to tear Jaskier’s throat out too. 

“That’s pretty cool,” Ciri said, standing up. She grabbed both Geralt’s and Jaskiers plates, then went to put them in the dishwasher. “He seems interesting.” She said the word interesting like it was a curse, and Geralt knew she trusted him even less than Geralt did. Good on her for having sense. 

“He is, I guess,” Jaskier said, and he sounded distant, as if he was somewhere else, far away from Geralt’s apartment. “He offered to take me to his place in Florida, but I don’t even want to consider moving until we’ve been dating for a while.” 

Ciri nodded wisely. “That’s good.” 

Jaskier pocketed his phone. “Actually, I’m supposed to meet him tonight, so I should be going.” He stood up and went to hug Ciri. “Congratulations on your test. I knew you would do amazing.” He winked. “Thanks to me of course,” and laughed when Ciri swatted his arm. 

He walked over to Geralt, like he was about to hug him, and Geralt leaned back in his chair, and glared at him as hard as he could. Jaskier chuckled, not fazed at all, but he backed up anyway, and didn’t touch Geralt, which Geralt was thankful for. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he called to Ciri, before leaving, taking his floral perfume with him. Geralt sighed. 

“Ciri, stop inviting him over,” he grunted, once he was sure Jaskier was gone. 

Ciri rolled her eyes. “He's really cool, dad,” she replied. “He helped me with my test. Give him a chance, why don’t you?” 

Geralt mentally swore. He didn’t like Jaskier, but Ciri enjoyed his company, so he resigned himself to the fact that Jaskier would most likely not be leaving his life anytime soon. 

Fuck. 

* * *

Geralt had loved the ocean ever since he was a kid. There was something powerful in it, the waves that pulled down swimmers and surfers effortlessly. He found out that 95% of the ocean hadn’t been explored, and it scared and fascinated him. What could be down there, in places humanity had never touched before? What beautiful creatures swam underneath the water, not captured in photographs yet, and what horrible monsters lived in the darkest places humanity couldn’t reach? 

(For some reason, he thought that maybe Jaskier would know.) 

Sometimes he wondered how the fuck people had seen more of the galaxies far off, than the water on our own planet. 

His apartment was only twenty-five minutes from the beach. He loved how close it was, how if he wanted, he could go and stare at the waves whenever he wanted. He grew up in the freezing mountains and the freedom the ocean gave him was exhilarating. He didn’t have much time to go and visit anymore, but he always made sure to schedule a trip there for him and Ciri a few times in the year. 

It was the only place that had made him feel happy during the worst years of his life, of course it was special to him. 

* * *

Geralt walked into the therapist's office on Sunday, 10:54 am. Ciri was still asleep at home, and Geralt had left a little note for her. The office was empty, except for a teenage girl waiting on one of the chairs. She was on her phone, and looked up when Geralt entered, then quickly looked back down. Geralt knew he was intimidating, but still felt slightly bad at her fear. He knew his scars freaked some people out, but he couldn’t hide them. 

The waiting room was warmly lit, with a few potted plants in the corners. It was full of silence, the type that reached into your chest and squeezed your heart tightly. Geralt wondered how silences could be different, where one made your heart beat faster, while the other made it slow down. 

He sat down on one of the leather chairs, and it let out a slow squeak as he relaxed down. The girl was refusing to look at him, keeping her eyes firmly on her phone. 

A few minutes passed in awkward silence. “Mrs Rivia,” a voice called, and Geralt stood up quickly, desperate to get away. He took a deep breath then walked into his therapists office. 

His therapist, Carol, was a fifty-six year old short, stocky woman, with arms that looked like she could lift boulders. She was kind, but firm, and Geralt didn’t want to admit it, but he was slightly terrified of her. Today she was wearing a baggy sweater, and her white hair was on top of her head, held up with a paintbrush. 

“Hello Geralt,” she said warmly as he walked in. Her eyes were soft and kind. He approached the couch and sat in it, nodding his greetings. 

“So how are you? Is Ciri doing well?” Carol asked, getting her notebook out and tapping the pencil against the paper, the sound echoing through the room. 

“Ciri is doing fine. She recently got an 86 on an exam,” Geralt said, and Carol beamed. “I’m proud of her. I’m doing well too.” 

“That’s good,” Carol said. “Any new developments at all? Anything I should know about?” 

“I got a new neighbour,” Geralt said, thinking about how Jaskier had passed him that morning leaving, walking up the stairs, looking so tired and ruined, with dark circles under his eyes, and a slight tremble in his legs. “His name is Jaskier.” 

“Buttercup?” Carol asked, sounding incredulous. Geralt frowned at her, and she explained, “Buttercup. Jaskier means buttercup in Polish.” 

Geralt sat back on the couch, trying to process that information. He hummed. It certainly seemed like it fit Jaskier. He seemed like the type of person to be named after a flower. 

“It is a strange name, but it's pretty,” Carol said, making a note on her paper. “What is he like? Better than your last neighbour?” 

“Annoying. Tasteless. A fairly good chef,” Geralt said automatically. His therapist raised an eyebrow. He grunted. “Ciri likes him. He’s been over a few times.” 

“And you don’t like him?” 

“I-” Geralt frowned, trying to sort out his thoughts. “I don’t mind him, I just wish he would shut up and stop telling stories.” At Carol's weird look, he explained, “he says that his sister could turn into a bird, and his brother has lightning in his veins. Ciri enjoys them. But they’re tacky.” 

“Maybe he’s telling the truth,” Carol suggested, and Geralt scoffed. 

“I hope not.” 

“Maybe he actually believes what he is saying.” Her pencil was flying across the notebook, writing things down quickly. Geralt wondered why it was so important before realising he had never talked about someone else other than Ciri or Yennefer in his sessions. 

Fuck. 

“Maybe he does,” Geralt muttered. If Jaskier really did think his siblings were magic, then he would have to keep Ciri away from him. After the weird cult nonsense that his neighbours had done, he wasn’t willing to trust many people. 

“Well think about it like this; if he really does believe it, there has to be a reason why. Maybe try and understand him?” Carol closed her notebook, and leaned closer. “You would also benefit from having someone else in your life. I know how much you love Yennefer, but she isn't around often anymore, is she?” At Geralt's slow nod, she continued, “having someone else you can turn to is a good idea, Geralt.” 

He nodded slowly. “Sure,” he mumbled, and Carol laughed. 

“Always so callous,” she chuckled. “Let's move on from Jaskier. Any other news about Ciri I should know about?” 

He spent the rest of the session talking about the fear he felt when he thought that Ciri was growing up, and Carol reassured him that all parents feel that way sometime in their life, and that if you make sure that Ciri is happy, then he wouldn’t have to worry about Ciri leaving him behind. 

He left the session feeling lighter, promising to meet Carol in another two weeks. She waved goodbye, and when Geralt left, the teenager was gone. An old man sat in her place instead, and Geralt knew that was Carol’s next client. 

When he arrived home, Ciri was making pancakes for breakfast, and Geralt wondered what time she had gotten up. 

He watched her move around the kitchen and thought about how she would eventually move out, get her own place, then visit him at Christmas, and do the same thing on Christmas day, make him some pancakes. 

The thought didn’t bother him as much anymore. 

* * *

_He was flying down the dirt road, his motorcycle roaring loudly, like a lioness. His foot pressed harder and harder down on the gas pedal, and he wished he hadn’t brought a helmet with him so he could feel the wind in his hair. It was nighttime, and his headlights were shining bright ahead of him, illuminating the road. Around him, the countryside went by in a blur, wooden fences and apple trees passing his vision in an instant, like they didn’t exist._

_He kept his eyes firmly ahead, making slight turns as the road changed. He was going faster and faster, and he had never felt such a thrill before in his life. The adrenaline pumped through his veins and he wanted to throw his head back and laugh loud._

_It was a challenge, he thought. How fast can he really go, until he felt like he was weightless, like he was flying. What would it be like to finally stop after this? He didn’t think he ever could._

_A sharp turn was coming up quickly, and with a start, Geralt found he felt no fear. He was drunk on wind and speed, and he didn’t want it to stop. He knew he should slam on the brakes, to stop, but his foot pressed harder on the pedal. He sped up, going faster than he thought he possibly could. His fingers tightened around the handles, and as the turn came up, he jerked them to the side. It felt like it was in slow motion, as if it were happening in a dream. He felt his body tip over, and his heart jumped._

_His motorcycle went sideways, but didn’t turn onto the road, instead kept going into the ditch. Geralt felt his body flip, and skid along the gravel, sharp rocks cutting into his skin. The motorcycle went out from under him and crashed into the field. It left him behind, and kept rolling. Geralt didn't stop, flipping hard into the damp grass. His body was left battered, and he could feel a cut on his torso start to bleed. The motorcycle stopped eventually in some field, and Geralt groggily lifted his head to watch it burst into flames._

_He struggled to catch his breath, and after a few minutes settled down. The night was now silent, and the stars twinkled above them. His breath was shaky, but it entered his lungs no problem With a start, Geralt realised he had survived a motorcycle crash._

_He realised something was wrong when he was disappointed that he lived._

Geralt awoke with a jolt. His clock on the dresser told him it was 12 am. He rubbed his eyes harshly. He hadn’t thought about that night in so long, and wondered what had caused it, if it was Jaskier. 

His scars hurt, and he massaged them gently, trying to relieve some of the pain. His scars weren’t that bad, but the worst one headed up from his chest to his neck, and there was no way to cover it. He wondered if he should call Carol, but decided against it, knowing that she would answer the phone if he called, but not wanting to disturb her because of a simple nightmare. 

The silence closed around him, a strange comfort in the night. He wrapped the blankets tighter around himself, and tried to go back to sleep. 

Then, the screaming started. 

* * *

The screaming didn’t stop until 1 am. They were coming from Jaskiers apartment, and it sounded like he was fighting with someone. Insults and names were screamed back and forth between whoever else was in there, and Jaskier. Geralt wondered if he should call 911 when a plate smashed against the wall. He didn’t dare get up. 

Ciri came into his room a while later, looking scared. Looking at how terrified she was, Geralt wondered why he had any fear about her growing up, not when he still crept into his room when she was terrified. He had wrapped her up in his arms, and held her tightly, as he pretended she wasn’t crying softly in his shoulder. 

Damn Jaskier for making her cry. 

Eventually the door slammed, and the screaming stopped, replaced with sobbing. Geralt knew it was Jaskier, the noises soft, but distinguishable. He wanted to go find Jaskier and bring him into their apartment, then hold him tight, to stop him from filling his silence with sadness. The sobbing echoed through the air for another few minutes, before stopping. The night was silent once more, and Ciri was asleep against him. The bed was big enough for two, so Geralt set her down, and pulled the blanket tight to her chin, before slipping under as well, trying to sleep again. 

In the morning, Ciri had sleepily gotten ready for school, still looking nervous and shaky. “Do you think he’s alright?” she asked Geralt, and Geralt didn’t know what to say to her. 

He went to work, and was even more silent than usual, lost in his thoughts. There wasn’t much to be done, and his thoughts were inescapable. He didn’t know what to think about what happened last night. 

He was coming home from the mechanics when he watched as Jaskier walked past him on the stairwell. Jaskier was looking down, walking slowly, not skipping every second step like he usually did. He was dressed up like he always was, but it looked like it was more show rather than enjoyment, as if he had forced himself to get up. 

“What happened last night?” Geralt asked as he hit the second floor platform, and Jaskier whirled around. His cheek was bruised, a soft purple colour on his flesh. Geralt growled under his breath, feeling a strange sort of protectiveness come over him. 

Jaskier was wide eyed for a second, then chuckled sadly. It was weird, not hearing his usual preppy happiness. “Garrett and I got in a fight. He wasn’t telling me where he was going every night, so I yelled, and shit escalated.” He suddenly looked worried. “Did I keep you up?” 

“Yeah a little.” Geralt tried to keep his voice down. He wished his voice wasn’t so gruff and low, so that it would be easier to sound comforting. He never was good at it, even with his daughter. 

“Ah fuck,” Jaskier muttered. “I’ll probably get yelled at by the landlord later. Fuck Garrett, you couldn’t just tell me.” He rubbed his cheek softly and glared into nothing. 

“Well at least he probably wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon,” Geralt pointed out, then internally yelled fuck. That was a horrible thing to say, and he wished he could take it back, but he continued, knowing there was no way to back out now. “You’re probably broken up after that.” 

Jaskier laughed nervously, and scratched the back of his head. Geralt narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You are broken up, right?” 

“I told him to come back when he wasn’t being such an ass hole,” Jaskier said sheepishly, and Geralt groaned. “So I mean, we might?” 

Geralt looked pointedly at his bruise. “He hit you Jaskier.” 

Fuck, Geralt hated abusers. They were right up there in the list of people Geralt would punch on sight, right between homophobes and racists. 

“I don’t think he actually meant to,” Jaskier defended. An old man cleared his throat, and Jaskier moved out of the way so he could get through, and the old man continued walking, not before glaring at Jaskier. Apparently Geralt and Ciri weren’t the only people kept up by the screaming. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighed, feeling worried. “You should have broken up with him.” 

“If he calls me, I’ll talk to him, okay?” Jaskier promised. “If he doesn’t, well I’m single again. Not that I would mind.” 

Geralt nodded, deciding not to push it further, and Jaskier went to walk away, but Geralt grabbed his arm, stopping him. He took a deep breath, regretting what he was about to say, but he was angry as well, and was worried about his daughter. Compared to Ciri, Jaskier didn’t matter, was barely a thought inside his head. “I’m sorry, but while you’re still dating him, Ciri isn’t allowed to go over to your place, okay?” 

Jaskier tugged his arm away. His blue eyes darkened, looking like the ocean Geralt loved so much. “Wait a minute, that isn’t fair.” 

“Of course it is. You’re with someone dangerous, who hurt you. Until he’s gone, Ciri isn’t allowed over.” 

Jaskier opened his mouth to argue, but then seemed to think better of it. Geralt's voice was final. He shut his mouth, and Geralt was surprised, expecting more of a fight. He sent a glare in the direction of Geralt, then spun on his heel and marched away, down the stairs. 

Geralt watched him walk away, then went to tell Ciri the news. 

* * *

The next day, two police officers knocked on Jaskiers door. It was 6 am and Geralt was getting ready for work when he heard their heavy boots on the carpet. He had explained to Ciri why she wasn’t allowed over at Jaskiers anymore, and even though she had complained, Geralt knew she understood.

The police officers had knocked on the door for a few minutes, before Jaskier finally let them in, looking nervous. Geralt had watched it through the peephole, then was forced to leave for work, lest he be late. 

When he returned a few hours later, Jaskier was waving the police officers goodbye, looking better. He wasn’t in handcuffs, so Geralt considered that to be a good sign. He caught sight of Geralt, and smiled. The bruise on his cheek was fading slightly, but it was still there, an ugly mark on his pale skin.

Jaskier greeted him like he wasn’t mad at all, like Geralt had not forbidden him to be near his daughter the other day. He forgave too easily, Geralt thought. A horrible characteristic to have. 

“Great news,” he said, bounding over to Geralt, and Geralt got a slight whiff of vodka. “Garret has been arrested.”

He said it so casually and Geralt stopped in shock, his hand on the doorknob. He turned to Jaskier. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, he got arrested. The police were here today because Garrett told them about me, and they wanted to ask me some questions.” He looked around, then lowered his voice and leaned in. “Apparently Garrett was doing some drug dealing around the city, cocaine and heroin, and the police just caught him last night. He’s going to jail for awhile.” 

“Did you know what he was doing?” 

Jaskier looked offended. “Fuck no. Believe me Geralt, I may have done some stupid things in my life, but getting involved with drug dealers? No. Even I’m not that dumb. He told me he was a pharmacist, which really does just speak for itself.” He looked thoughtful, as if he was just now seeing how horrible Garrett had been. “I really should have known.” 

“So you’re broken up?” Geralt asked. He couldn’t help it; he didn’t like seeing Ciri sad, and for some fucking reason, this young man made her happy. 

(He wouldn’t admit it, but he missed Jaskier too. His presence in the apartment made things better. Geralt didn’t know why, but he did.) 

“Yep,” Jaskier chirped. “Even if he had called me, I wouldn’t have talked to him.” He sighed dramatically, but Geralt could see some uncertainty behind his eyes, hidden well, but Geralt knew what to look for. “I would have missed young Ciri too much.” He looked hopefully at Geralt. “Does this mean she’s allowed over again.” 

Geralt couldn’t help but blush slightly at his face, full of childish hope. “Sure,” he grunted, praying to God that Jaskier wouldn’t notice how red he had gotten. 

He opened the door, and Jaskier followed him without being invited, as if he lived there with them. Geralt didn’t know what to say to get him to leave, so he just let Jaskier wander in, and sit on his counter top like he did before. He was wearing a new silk gown that went down to his ankles, with a coat over top. Geralt wondered what kind of man just had silk gowns sitting around. 

“Where is Ciri anyway?” Jaskier asked, looking around, searching for the girl. 

“She is over at a friends house,” Geralt grunted, thinking about the text he had gotten leaving work, Ciri asking if she could stay over at Dara’s. He had reluctantly agreed, and was regretting it now that he was alone with Jaskier. 

“Oh,” he looked disappointed. “I was hoping to talk to her.” 

“Why?” 

“I mean, after what happened with Garrett, I think I owe her an explanation. It would be confusing for a young girl, and I wanted to explain it.” Jaskier looked so genuine, that Geralt almost threw up. He didn’t know why Jaskier and Ciri were suddenly close, and he felt like he was missing out on something important. 

“I already did,” Geralt said, going into the kitchen to start making supper. He reached into the fridge and pulled out some meat pies. He showed them to Jaskier, eyebrows raised; if Jaskier was eating over, he might as well have some say in what they ate. Jaskier nodded his agreement, and Geralt started the oven. 

Jaskier stayed silent, like he was thinking about something. “That’s good then,” he said faintly, and Geralt wished he could read minds, if only to understand what the fuck was wrong with Jaskier, what the fuck he was thinking of. 

Geralt cooked the pies, and Jaskier rambled in his ear. He was hiding something, Geralt knew, but he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place to. But something had been bothering him ever since he saw the bruise on Jaskier’s cheek, and halfway through making dinner, he had to ask. “Why did you stay with him?” 

Jaskier looked up from where he had been cracking his fingers. He licked his lips, and Geralt's attention was drawn to the action more than he would care to admit. “He was exciting,” Jaskier explained. He leaned back, and one side of his coat slipped from his shoulders. “Things were fun while he was around. Even when he was being an ass hole, it was exciting. If I had known about the drugs, I would have broken up with him right away. Plus the sex was pretty nice too.” 

“You’re being awfully calm about this. Your ex-boyfriend was just arrested for drug trafficking. You’d think you’d be more upset.” 

Jaskier shrugged. “Eh, didn’t love him enough to be upset. And these things don’t worry me anymore. It’s drugs, right? A shiny powder that makes millions. I don’t use it, but I used to know people that did, and that showed me enough. If he wants to get involved with drugs, then fine, it’s his life he’s playing with. It’s his gamble, not mine.” 

He was nonchalant, so calm about everything, Geralt wondered what kind of things he had seen that an arrest didn’t faze him in the slightest. 

He served Jaskier a piece of the meat pie, and watched as he devoured it. He wondered if Jaskier had forgotten to eat again. 

* * *

“Come in, come in,” Jaskier urged, waving Ciri and Geralt into his apartment and shutting the door. Ciri thanked him politely, and Geralt nodded his head in Jaskiers direction. Jaskier skipped around, taking Geralt's jacket from him, and hanging it up on the hook. 

“I’m really excited to show you guys around,” Jaskier said, spinning around, hurrying from one end of the room to the other, straightening small things in an effort to make the place more presentable. Geralt watched him flit around, thinking how unnecessary it was; the apartment was spotless. “You have only seen it while I was unpacking, so you guys only saw the messy part. Plus, I still owe you for helping with that, so what’s better than a homemade supper?” 

Geralt wanted to point out that Jaskier had made them supper many times before, and that as far as he was concerned, his debt was paid off. But he knew Jaskier would refuse to listen, so he kept his mouth shut. 

The apartment looked very different than what Geralt had imagined it to be. It looked as if Jaskier had lived there his entire life, instead of a single month. 

It was difficult to explain, but when you first move in, it takes a while to get used to everything. Things still look new and fresh as you slowly settled in, like a dust storm that the wind had picked up, then slowly let down again, coating everything. Jaskier’s apartment looked like everything had transported there suddenly, and he made his home where he ended up. Geralt didn’t know how someone could be that comfortable wherever he was. 

The walls were lined with paintings, all of strange people that Geralt knew that if he ever met him, would look down on him with snotty eyes. One lady was holding a fan and wearing a corset, and Geralt could swear he felt her eyes follow him as he walked by. The walls were also decorated with different instruments, like a lute, or a violin. The kitchen was painted lime green, and the kitchen table was full of books that Jaskier picked up and moved from the floor. In the living room Geralt could see the photo of Jaskier on the beach he had looked at that first day. Beside it however, was a large tapestry he had only seen in period dramas. It was large and looked handmade, with lopsided stitches and weird shapes. Someone had obviously started it, then gave up and asked someone else to finish it. The styles were vastly different, as if one person had actually made an effort, and the other one decided to just do whatever they wanted. He looked closer, and he could see a girl, who was standing with one arm wrapped around a little boy, and the other one slung out, with feathers growing along it, the colours bright against the muted backdrop. The little boy's hands were held out, and a blue string was crossed over them. Behind them was the ocean, and in the corner, Geralt could see a small shadowy figure.

Ciri walked over. “This is the tapestry I told you about dad,” she said, running her hands along the fabric. “Isn’t it cool?” 

He grunted in confirmation, still in awe over the work someone would have put into it. He caught a whiff of floral perfume he had come to associate with Jaskier before the man was behind him, pointing over his shoulder. 

“That’s my sister right there,” he said, pointing to the girl in the midst of turning into a bird. “And that’s my brother,” he pointed at the boy with the blue string over his hands. 

“Tell him the story,” Ciri pleaded, and Jaskier laughed. Geralt remembered what Jaskier had mentioned about his siblings, the lies he sprouted. 

“Of course my dear,” he said, then cleared his throat. “So as you are aware, I grew up on an island, full of monsters and villains. The most disgusting creatures you could ever imagine roamed the countryside, and we were in constant danger. My sister was nine years older than me, and desperate to escape. She promised that she would leave the island and send for help, to rescue me and my brother, but we didn’t know how.” He paced around the room as he talked, and Geralt followed him with his eyes. “We planned on building a boat to escape. We used some old wood washed ashore to build it, but it was only big enough to fit one. So my sister said she would go.

“But our plan was discovered and when we went down to see her off, the boat was alight with flames. The monsters had burned our creation and we were forced to flee. We all ran in different directions as the monsters attacked us violently. I ran along a small river, and eventually lost the monster chasing me. 

“I stopped to catch my breath and realised I was lost on the island. I didn’t know how to get back home, and my sister and brother were gone. I wandered among the trees for hours and eventually came in view of a large cliff. And what do I see? My sister, running up it, being chased by two monsters. She flew like the wind, and was steadily approaching the edge. I tried to cry out to her, but I was frozen in place and could barely move. As I watched, wide eyed, she got to the edge, and jumped off. I screamed, but instead of falling to her death, she spread her arms and transformed into a beautiful bird. She flew away to find help, leaving me and my brother alone. And I never saw her again.” 

Jaskier finished his story with a flourish and bowed. Ciri laughed and clapped. “What about your brother?” she asked, and looked at Geralt out of the corner of her eyes, as if waiting for him to hear. 

“Of course, how could I forget about him? My brother,” Jaskier pointed to the boy, “was very unique. He was born with lightning in his veins, and could control it with just his hands. When I was younger, he used to turn my light on and off just to be mean and keep me from sleeping. He was very rude to me, not at all like my sister. She was kind and loving. But I love him anyway” Jaskier sighed dramatically. “How I miss them both.” 

“What a load of horseshit,” Geralt said. 

(“Every story has a grain of truth in it,” his therapist told him. “The easiest way to lie is to tell the truth and pretend you’re lying.”) 

Ciri laughed in the background. Jaskier looked at him in betrayal, though the corner of his lips twitched up, trying to stay mad. “You don’t appreciate my storytelling?” 

“That’s what it is,” Geralt replied. “A story. The tapestry is pretty well made though.” He brushed his hands along the fabric again. He could care less about the story; the tapestry was what caught his attention. 

“Thanks. My mom started it, then I finished it. That’s why some of the lines are wonky, I had to go over them to complete it.” 

Geralt looked at Jaskiers hands. His fingers were thin, almost dangerously so, but he could see the calluses on them. He could so easily see them using a tiny needle and threading string through the canvas, making a picture in the dead of night, by the light of a candle. 

He hummed and stepped away from it. Jaskier led them into the kitchen and told them to sit down while he made supper. Geralt sat down on the chairs with Ciri, and watched Jaskier chop some lettuce up. He was making taco salad, and the meat was already cooking on the stove. 

Jaskier and Ciri held a conversation, and Geralt tried to pay attention, but his attention was caught on the dried flowers hung around the ceiling with blue ribbons. He could see roses, lilies and petunias hung around on bunches, and they filled the air with a sweet scent. Geralt wondered if Jaskiers permanent floral scent was because of his kitchen and not his perfume. 

Ciri had been here multiple times, so she was immune to it, but Geralt couldn’t help but look around in wonder. He wondered what kind of person Jaskier was to have done all of that, what kind of human lived the way he did. 

Jaskier didn’t seem human to him; he wore the weirdest clothes Geralt had ever seen, made tapestries and weaved tales about magical siblings, and hung dried flowers from his ceiling. He had never met someone like Jaskier, who filled the world with his warmth, until even if you fucking hated him, his absence would be noted. 

Jaskier had made desert as well, a lemon pie with sweet whipped cream. Geralt hated lemon, but Jaskier had pouted until he took a piece, and Geralt was stunned at how good it was. He had always hated the way Vesemir would make it, but Jaskier’s version was sweet and tangy. Geralt wondered how many citrus things he had missed out on, or if it was just Jaskier himself and his baking. 

It was almost 9 o'clock by the time they left, but not before Jaskier had snatched Geralt's phone, and put his number in. Geralt had been about to leave, when he felt a hand flip into his pocket quickly. He typed fast, and Geralt’s phone was returned within seconds. 

“Just in case,” Jaskier winked, and Geralt remembered back before he had Ciri, before the accident, when both men and women used to approach him and give him their numbers with that same line. He wondered if it meant something else coming from Jaskier. 

It was 10 o’clock when his phone chimed. Geralt was just getting ready for bed when his phone lit up, illuminating the room. He picked it up and saw it was from Jaskier. 

_Good night ;)_

Geralt thought for a second, before texting back, then put his phone down to sleep. 

_Good night._

* * *

Geralt was a fairly attractive man; people had said so while they were in bed together, when Geralt and the other party were half-drunk, looking for some fun. They had praised him for all the things he hated. 

He had amber eyes, which had always made him stand out in the crowd. People told him they looked like liquid gold, and privately they were the only thing Geralt had ever loved about himself. 

His hair was white and long, usually pulled back in a low ponytail, but sometimes he let it out and it spilled over his broad shoulders. It was natural, and he wondered who had given it to him, his mother or father. His bed partners would pull it sometimes, then braid it after when they were relaxing and looking for something else to do with their hands. 

He was pretty big and muscular too; Vesemir had trained him to fight, though Geralt didn’t like using it for anything. But it paid off, and Geralt often found himself towering over people. 

Yennefer had told him that it was just his personality that needed fixing, that his body was amazing, but people needed more than just grunts and hums from him. Yennefer used to be critical of him; yet she came back time after time. He liked to think their relationship was healthier now that they got rid of the sex, but he hadn’t seen her so long he barely remembered what it had been like. 

Then the motorcycle accident had happened, and Geralt was left with scars all along his body, the worst one heading up to his neck. He had laid there in the hospital bed, when he got the phone call from Vesemir proclaiming him a father. 

Ciri had changed his life, and had prompted him to get better. 

But sometimes he wondered if anyone would ever love him despite his scars, a physical representation of his attempt and declaration to get better. 

* * *

It was late at night when Geralt got the message from Jaskier. He was about to go to bed, when his phone buzzed on his nightstand. Ciri was already asleep, and Geralt wanted to join her in slumber, but he took out his phone anyway to see who it was.

_hey could you come help me with something_

Geralt internally groaned. Of course it was Jaskier. He wondered what the man could want so late in the evening, and from him, someone Jaskier barely knew. He thought about what to text back, before typing two words onto the screen. 

_With what?_

That was good. It was simple, and actually used proper pronunciation. It was one of Geralt's biggest pet peeves when Ciri texted him. He could barely understand the slang, let alone the abbreviations she used. 

_i just need someone to pick me up_

_i may have gotten in a little accident_

Ah fuck, what did he do? Geralt wiped his aching eyes, then let out a quiet ‘fuck’ under his breath. He walked into the entryway of his apartment and threw on a jacket, then grabbed his keys. He went down to the parking garage where his motorcycle was parked. He texted Jaskier, and started up the vehicle while waiting for him to respond back. 

_Where are you?_

Jaskier sent a picture of the address, and Geralt hopped on the motorcycle and drove out onto the road. As he drove he wondered what happened that prompted the man to text someone he barely knew. Was Jaskier hurt? Was he in trouble? Did one of Garrett's drug friends find him? That thought made him drive faster, knowing that if it was true, Jaskier probably wouldn’t be alive by the end of the night. 

It was a strange sense of terror, the vagueness of the message. Not knowing why he was rushing, but also knowing that wasting a single second was the difference between life and death. 

The address led him to a bar, with lights flashing through the windows. The building pulsed with light and electricity, the multcloured flashing lighting teared at Geralt’s eyes. He didn’t want to enter, knowing it would smell of spilt alcohol and sweat. He wondered why he was even considering going in for someone he once thought was the bane of his existence. 

Ah well, he was already here, wasn’t he? 

He took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for the ordeal, then walked to the door. His hand was brushing the handle, when a voice sounded beside him. 

“Ah Geralt. How nice of you to come. I really didn’t expect you, so this is a pleasant surprise.” 

Geralt turned to Jaskier, who was leaning against the bar wall. He was wearing a frilly white shirt and high waisted pants made of some golden shimmery fabric. His lips and eyelids were covered in golden paint, and his hair was full of white flowers. However, it was the darkened blood coating his chin and lips, and dripping onto his white shirt that caught Geralt’s eyes. Jaskier was gingerly holding his hands together, and Geralt could see the bruises and dried blood on the knuckles. The man was trembling, and using the bar wall to hold up his weight. 

Geralt rolled his eyes and stepped away from the door, trying to ignore the relief that filled him at the sight of the man mostly unharmed. “What the fuck happened Jaskier?” 

Jaskier laughed nervously. “Well, you see, there was this girl inside. Really pretty too, I would have gone home with her but before I could ask, there was already a man there, talking to her, who looked really suspicious. So I kept my eye out and what did I see? That same man, putting something in this poor girl's drink. So obviously I had to say something-” he cut himself off, and seemed to consider something. “-well, it wasn’t exactly saying something.” 

“You punched him didn’t you?” 

“Yes and it was amazing. But as you can see, it didn’t go well. Both me and him were kicked out of the bar, which is very disappointing. I really liked this one. But right now, I have a horrible headache and I think getting home would take a lot of work. So I called you, and you came.” Jaskier smiled and his teeth were coated in blood. He tried to step forward, then thought better of it, and he stayed where he was. 

“You’re a fucking idiot Jaskier,” Geralt said, trying to stamp out his rising pride, knowing he would have done the same in Jaskiers position. He had zero patience for people who seemed content to take people without consent, and apparently, neither did Jaskier. 

(It made him wonder that if Jaskier had fought a man for wanting to hurt a woman, why would he stay with a man that so obviously wanted to hurt him. The parallels were there.) 

“Maybe so, but at least the girl is okay. I figured asking her out wouldn’t be acceptable after what almost had happened to her. As far as I know, the barkeep is taking care of her.” 

Jaskier approached the motorcycle with curiosity. His steps were slow, careful. “So this is your ride. It’s really nice,” he said, walking around it slowly. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.” 

“Trust me, this'll be your last,” Geralt threatened, tossing him the spare helmet. Jaskier caught it and put it on, not bothering to buckle it with his shaking hands. He couldn’t come rescue Jaskier every time, no matter how much he wanted to. 

“We’ll see,” and Geralt could almost sense the wink from behind the visor. Jaskier got on the back of the motorcycle, and Geralt hopped on after him, and pulled out of the bar parking lot. Jaskier had wrapped his arms tightly around Geralt's waist for support, almost pushing the air out of him. He was warm, a welcome weight on Geralt's back. Geralt tried to drive slower for Jaskier, and they got back to the apartment building within minutes. 

(It wasn’t so he could continue to feel Jaskier’s warmth, but rather so the man wasn’t scared of his usual driving.) 

Jaskier hopped off the motorcycle and took off the helmet as soon as Geralt shut off the engine. He stumbled slightly and Geralt reached out to steady him, knowing that the man was probably suffering from a horrible headache after being punched. Jaskier leaned into his touch, and Geralt blushed red. 

Geralt led him up the stairs, Jaskier swaying in his arms, leaning on him for support. He wasn’t talking at all, which worried Geralt more than it should. He was slowly learning more about Jaskier, and what he learned told him that when the man was silent, things were not okay. 

They made it up to the third floor, and Jaskier went to leave Geralt's arms to walk to his own apartment, but Geralt stopped him. “We should look at that,” he spoke softly, pointing at the bruise blossoming on Jaskier's other cheek, and the dried blood on his nose. The bruise he got from Garrett was still there, but only faintly, and Geralt felt a flash of protectiveness inside of him viewing it. Jaskier always seemed to be getting into fights and getting bruises, and Geralt wanted to stop them all for him, so that the man wasn’t hurt again. 

He wondered why he cared for Jaskier. He was special to Ciri, not to Geralt, but for some reason, Geralt felt getting to know the young man more. He wanted to know why Jaskier seemed to think his siblings were magic, or why he thought he grew up on an island full of monsters, with a woman who could see into the future. He wanted to know what had happened to him. 

He wanted to know why Jaskier made him doubt the world was as logical as it seemed. 

Jaskier followed Geralt into the apartment easily, and Geralt brought him into the bathroom and got out the first aid kit. The nose probably wasn’t broken, but he still had to clean up the dried blood, and put some cream on it to help the bruising. Jaskier let him maneuver him around, placing him on the edge of the bathtub. 

Geralt got out a damp cloth and began wiping away the blood. “You did the right thing,” he mumbled, and Jaskier chuckled faintly. His eyes were glassy, and they seemed to have trouble focusing. Geralt wondered if he had a concussion, if he should take Jaskier to the hospital. 

“Thanks,” Jaskier replied, his mouth struggling to make the words. His eyelids fluttered, the golden eye shadow gleaming in the light. After the previous adrenaline had worn off, Jaskier seemed to be struggling to stay awake. Geralt remembered what that felt like, the fatigue you feel right after a fight that seems to drain you, leaving you feeling helpless and heavy. 

Geralt finished wiping off the blood, then opened the container of cream. He started spreading it along Jaskiers cheeks like a blush. He knew his fingers were rough and scratchy, but he tried his best to be gentle. This close he could see the faint freckles Jaskier had over his nose. Jaskiers cheeks reddened as his fingers moved along the skin, and Geralt knew that if he pushed into, a white dot would be left behind. 

“Y’know, you’re kind of hot.” 

Geralt nearly dropped the container at Jaskiers words. They had come out of nowhere, and were spoken with a soft voice, something he hadn’t thought Jaskier could do. He grunted, and continued his task, ignoring the rising blush in his cheeks. 

“I’m serious, I saw you that first day and though _holy fucking shit. I wanna climb him like a tree, mother of God._ You had all that,” he made a strange gesture with his hand, “masculine charm.” 

“Jaskier stop,” Geralt commanded, and put the container away. Jaskier made a motion with his hands, a zipper going over his lips, and Geralt sighed. “You can stay here for the night. You can sleep on the couch.” 

He got up and went into the closet to get the spare blanket and pillow for Jaskier. Jaskier followed him out, and went to sit on the couch, collapsing down upon it. Geralt tossed the pillow and blanket at him, and they landed in Jaskiers lap with a thump. 

“I’ll get you some clothes,” Geralt said, and went into his room to find a shirt for Jaskier to borrow so he wouldn’t have to sleep in his blood soaked blouse. He picked a simple t-shirt, and tossed it to Jaskier. 

Jaskier pulled the shirt off of his body, and replaced it with Geralts. They were almost the same height, but Jaskier didn’t have the muscles Geralt had, so the shirt hung off him, almost limply so. Geralt tried not to think of how good Jaskier seemed to look in it. 

Geralt watched as Jaskier spread the blankets out over his body, and pulled them to his chin. He wrapped his arms around himself, as if he were hugging someone that wasn’t there, and Geralt wondered who he had lost. 

“Good night Jaskier,” he said, then walked out, turning off the light. He thought he heard a soft voice call out to him, but he kept walking back into his bedroom, and tried hard not to think about anything at all. 

* * *

Geralt woke up early, and rubbed his eyes. His long hair fell onto his shoulders, and he grabbed a scrunchie from the nightstand, and pulled it back into a bun. The sun filtered through the curtains, and with a start, he remembered their guest. 

He wandered out of his room after throwing on an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Jaskier was in the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets, looking for something. Geralt didn’t expect him to be awake so early. 

“Do you need anything?” he asked, and Jaskier turned with a start, looking scared. 

“Geralt you scared me.” He held his hand close to his chest, like an old Victorian maiden. As a matter of fact, I do. Where do you guys keep your coffee?” 

Geralt pointed to the cabinet next to Jaskier, and Jaskier chirped his thanks before opening the cupboard door. He grabbed the coffee pods, and began making himself a cup of coffee. Geralt went to the table and sat down, watching Jaskier fumble with it. 

His bruises were more prominent in the morning light, a dark purple and green staining his cheekbones. From far away, he couldn’t see the freckles he noticed the night before, blending into his skin. He remembered a legend he heard as a kid, that freckles were just kisses from the sun. 

Jaskier moved around the kitchen like nothing happened, like he hadn’t been punched so hard that he relied on the aid of someone he barely knew last night, like it didn’t even matter. If his reaction to Garrett's arrest was any indication, it didn’t. 

“Do you have any alcohol here? Like vodka or something?” Jaskier asked, and Geralt looked at him strangely. 

“You always drink first thing in the morning?” 

“Only when the situation calls for it. And I think this-” he circled his face with a finger, “-calls for it.” 

“I don’t drink.” 

“Oh yeah.” Jaskier pouted for a second, before sipping his coffee. He added cream and sugar, but not enough to make Geralt cringe, like Ciri did. “You don’t drink. How does someone come about that though? There has to be some tragic story or something. Something that made you give it up.” 

Geralt thought back to all the days he had blacked out and woken up in some random peoples bed, wondering what the fuck happened, tasting stale alcohol and metallic blood on his tongue. 

“No,” he lied. “I just don’t like the taste.” 

Jaskier shrugged. “A valid reason.” 

The silence that followed was almost stifling. Geralt didn’t know what to do with his hands, nor did he know what to say. He never had a way with words, preferring to shut up and sit back. Other people had always talked for him, but now Jaskiers mouth was shut, like his lips had been sewn through with ribbon. 

(That was a fucking weird thought, Geralt didn’t even know why it came to mind.) 

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Jaskier eventually spoke up. He was still wearing Geralt's shirt, and the golden pants, and it looked strange, the difference between an expensive piece of clothing and Geralt’s old t-shirt. 

“It’s fine,” Geralt muttered. “I was still awake when you texted.” 

“I actually wasn’t talking about that, but I guess I do owe you an apology for that as well. No, I was talking about what I said to you while you were helping me. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or anything.” Jaskier looked sheepish, as if he really did regret it, and Geralt wondered why, why someone like Jaskier who had zero shame, would regret something like that. 

Geralt thought back to when Jaskier had called him hot, and mentioned how he would like to _climb him like a tree, mother of God._ He remembered how hard he fought to keep his blush down, and wondered if maybe that meant something. 

For the longest time his therapist had told him the dangers of repressing his feelings, of keeping them locked down inside of himself. She said that it would be difficult to meaningfully express his emotions when he wanted to, and it would be hard for him to realise when he was feeling something for someone else. 

“I didn’t mind,” he said, and Jaskiers head shot up from his coffee, where he had been staring into it like it held the secrets of humanity. 

“Really? Because I thought you were hot from the minute I saw you, but I thought you were straight or something, and I didn’t want to ruin anything.” 

“I’ve been with guys before,” Geralt replied, and Jaskiers eyes widened even more. He finished his coffee, and set down his cup. Geralt thought about asking him if he wanted another one, but figured that if they were talking about something that Jaskier obviously thought of as important, it would be weird to do so. 

“Wow, that is-” he shook his head, and Geralt could see him reevaluate everything he thought he knew about Geralt in his head. “That’s good.” He looked hopefully over to Geralt. “So does this mean I can ask you out?” 

Geralt nodded his head, his hand shaking slightly under the table. 

“Wow, okay. Hang on, let me prepare for this.” Jaskier moved his finger back and forth like he was writing something down, then stopped. He leaned over the counter, his bright blue eyes glittering. They looked almost like the ocean to Geralt. “Geralt Rivia, would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow?” 

Geralt stopped and thought about it. He hadn’t been on a date since he got Ciri, and while he could admit that it would be nice to have a relationship again, he barely remembered how to act. He was worried that he would fuck up, and ruin everything, but he had a feeling that Jaskier was the type of person who wouldn’t care about a failed relationship. Even if things didn’t work between them, Jaskier would still approach Geralt, acting like nothing had happened at all. 

Plus, free dinner. 

“Where will we be going?” he asked, knowing that he was close to saying yes, but Yennefer had always said to play hard to get, and to not seem too desperate. 

“I know this amazing seafood place down by the harbour, if that is okay with you,” Jaskier said, his voice vibrating with so much energy and happiness that really should be illegal so early in the morning. 

That was the deal breaker for Geralt; the sea was his favourite place to be, and he had been meaning to try that place for so long, but always forgot before, so a date gave him the perfect excuse to check it out. 

“Sure,” he said, and Jaskier cheered, then slapped his hands over his mouth when he remembered Ciri, who was still sleeping. 

“Does seven work for you?” Jaskier asked once he had gotten over his excitement. Geralt grunted his confirmation, and made a mental note about the change of plans in his schedule. 

Ciri came stumbling in, yawning. It was Friday, and she still needed to get ready for school. She stopped when she saw Jaskier in Geralt’s shirt. A slow smile started on her lips, until she laughed so hard she doubled over. Geralt watched her laugh and felt his own lips twitch upwards. 

“Finally,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. 

Jaskier laughed, then bounded up to her. “Good morning Ciri,” he said, before spinning around and walking over to the door. “I’m sorry I can’t stay long, but I need to go and start planning. Have a good day!” He blew a kiss to Geralt then slammed the door shut behind him. His presence made the room larger, and now that he was gone, the walls seemed to press into Geralt. 

“Good luck dad,” Ciri chuckled, patting Geralt's shoulder, then going into the kitchen for breakfast. Geralt sat there, wondering what he had gotten into. 

He probably wasn’t getting that shirt back either. Fuck. 

* * *

Jaskier knocked on Geralt’s door at 6:55 pm. He did three quick taps, and Geralt rushed over to the door faster than he wanted. 

Geralt answered it wearing the only suit he owned, and he had never felt more uncomfortable in his life. It felt tight over his shoulders and neck, feeling like a heavy hand on each side, Ciri assured him he looked good. Jaskier was behind the door, wearing a lacy rose blouse and black high waisted pants, with silver eye shadow. He looked amazing, as usual, and Geralt felt inadequate compared to him. But Jaskiers eyes widened when he saw him, and Geralt felt himself blush under Jaskiers admiring gaze. 

“Well damn,” Jaskier said, and Geralt almost smiled, but managed to keep it down at the last second. 

Jaskier was holding a bouquet of dried flowers, and Geralt realised it had once hung in Jaskiers kitchen. It was full of sage and lilies, and the delicate scent filled the air between them. Jaskier noticed Geralt staring at it, and hurried to explain. “I saw you looking at them when you came over, so I figured I would give you one. Plus I’m broke and can’t afford dinner and a bouquet.” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, and Geralt thought he looked fucking adorable. 

Geralt let out a small chuckle and took the flowers, then set it on the counter top in the entryway. “They’re beautiful.” 

Jaskier beamed. “Thanks, I made them myself. Now my dear, shall we?” He offered Geralt his arm with an exaggerated bow and a wink. Geralt could hear Ciri behind him, urging him out the door. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” he said, but took Jaskiers arm anyway, and Jaskier looked a little too smug as he did. Jaskier led him down the stairs and out of the apartment. It was a warm night, and the sun was setting, sending streaks of pink and orange across the sky, like watercolour. 

“This is going to be amazing,” Jaskier was saying as they walked, arm in arm, down the street. It was only twenty-five minutes away, and Geralt was happy to be walking. He figured they must have looked strange; a man with scars and white hair in a suit, and a man wearing a blouse and makeup, arm in arm, but it was a welcome thought. Somehow being with Jaskier made Geralt more adventurous, less caring about anyone else, because Jaskier made them all disappear as he walked by. They didn’t matter, with Jaskier nearby. 

Geralt figured that this was the start of love; he wasn’t foolish enough to fall in love with someone so quickly, but he could so easily see it flourish, turning from a rose tinted infatuation to a muted purple, the familiarity and trust becoming something more for both of them. 

They made it to the restaurant, and Geralt opened the door for Jaskier, letting him in first. “Such a gentleman,” Jaskier teased, heading in, and Geralt could smell the flowers pass by as Jaskier went through. 

They were seated by the window, and Geralt could see the ocean through it, the waves crashing onto the sand. The restaurant was right next to the beach, with a small deck for people to eat outside. He watched the ocean as Jaskier ordered some water for the table, talking to the waiter with a polite tone. The menus were brought out along with the beverages, and Geralt finally tore his eyes away from the water. 

Jaskier was sitting across from him, the setting sun turning his hair and skin golden, like sunlight. His blue eyes looked even darker, like jewels, and Geralt felt his mouth go dry. 

“I think I’ll order the shrimp,” Jaskier said, oblivious to Geralt's wonder, flipping through the menu. “What about you?” 

Geralt grabbed his menu, and hurriedly flipped through, hoping to find something good, anything to distract him from Jaskier, who looked like a fallen angel, the sun making a halo in his hair. 

“I think I’ll get the seafood pasta,” he grunted, closing the menu, mentally mourning his only shield. The sun slipped below the waves, and the candlelight was suddenly brighter, and if Jaskier was beautiful in the sunlight, he was even prettier in firelight. 

“That sounds good,” Jaskier said. They were silent for a few seconds, and Geralt cursed every god in existence for not giving him the ability to talk to people, nevermind the fact he hated them. “So Mr. Rivia. How are you this fine evening?” His tone was teasing and slightly sweet. His tongue rolled gently on the r’s. 

“I’m okay,” he said, throwing every curse he could at himself. 

Jaskier stood up straighter. “Just okay?” he said teasingly. “Is everything alright?” 

Geralt grunted, then remembered what Yennefer said, about people wanting more from him than just his grunts and hums. “Everything is fine. I’m just-” he couldn’t believe he was about to admit this, but he wanted to justify himself for his awkwardness, “-not used to this.” 

“And that’s alright. You haven’t been on a date in a long time. Things have probably changed. Just talk to me, okay?” Jaskier looked so earnest, that Geralt could feel his head nod without his consent. “C’mon, tell me about yourself. What’s your favourite colour?” 

“Black.” 

“Jesus Christ, of course it is.” 

Geralt snorted, and Jaskier looked delighted at his laugh. “Me personally, I like yellow, like buttercups, or butter.” 

Geralt remembered what Carol had said about Jaskier’s name and couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Like your name?” 

Jaskier looked surprised, as if he didn’t expect Geralt to know. “Actually yeah. That’s what I named myself after.” 

“Jaskier isn’t your real name?” 

“Nah, it’s Julian, but if you ever call me that, I swear I’ll hurt you.” Geralt looked at Jaskier unimpressed, confident that if Jaskier ever attacked him, it wouldn’t be that difficult to beat him, and Jaskier huffed. 

“Okay, what about this?” Jaskier asked, then leaned forward, as if telling a secret. “What is your favourite sport?” 

“Swimming, but I also kick box,” Geralt answered, watching as Jaskiers eyes went wide with fascination. 

“The image of you kick boxing is beautiful, and I am begging you to take me along one day,” Jaskier said, sounding like he was already imagining it. “But swimming is so much fun, and I can’t believe that you like it too.” 

“You grew up on an island, right?” Geralt asked, remembering the stories Jaskier told him and Ciri, ones that were so obviously lies, but probably had a grain of truth hidden inside them Geralt just needed to find. 

Jaskier nodded. “Yeah, so I went swimming quite a bit, almost every day. It was the best way to pass the time, besides walking back and forth, from one end of the island to the other.” 

Geralt tried to imagine what it would be like, growing up surrounded by water in the middle of nowhere, on an island that Jaskier said you could cover within the day, filled with monsters, like Jaskier seemed to insist. He settled back, waiting for Jaskier to ask a new question instead. 

The night passed much like that, with Jaskier asking a stupid question about Geralt, then answering it himself. It reminded Geralt of high school, when the teachers would force their students to tell a little about themselves to the entire class. Geralt hated it, but with Jaskier it was more comfortable, as if they were old friends meeting after a long time, getting to know how the other person had changed over the years. 

Their food came and Jaskier had looked happily at the shrimp on his plate. Geralt nearly made a stupid joke, but held himself back at the last second. His own meal was quite large, and Jaskier spent the date stealing small spoonfuls from Geralt’s plate, which Geralt pretended not to notice. The night got dark, and the atmosphere became warm and familiar. The stars blinked above them when Jaskier finally went to take the check. Geralt played the game of trying to take it from him, but ultimately let Jaskier win and pay. 

They left the restaurant feeling slightly drunk despite not touching a drop of wine. The air was salty and the sound of the waves filled the air. Jaskier laughed, then kicked off his shoes, and ran down to the beach, his footprints making marks in the sand. Geralt followed him at a leisurely pace. 

“Geralt come on,” Jaskier called. The lights of the restaurant were in the distance, but Geralt could still see perfectly fine. Jaskier was standing in the water, his pants rolled up to his knees. “It’s a wonderful night to swim.” 

“That’s not a good idea,” Geralt said, thinking of work tomorrow. It would be Sunday, and he would have to go to work in the afternoon. He would prefer if he wasn’t sore while doing it. 

Jaskier pouted, but came out of the water, the sand sticking to his feet. He collapsed on the beach, and Geralt came to sit by him. Jaskier was silent, and Geralt let him think. 

“I used to swim almost everyday,” Jaskier repeated, looking out into the waves. “I would spend hours in the waves. It was amazing.” His voice was far off, and Geralt wanted to know what he was thinking about. “Did you know that me and my friends once had a bet; we would see how long we could spend inside the water, and I won. I spent thirty-six hours out in the waves.” Geralt looked over at him in shock, wondering how someone could do that, let alone someone like Jaskier. “I didn’t think I would make it back.” 

“Why would you do that?” Geralt asked. 

“To win the bet of course. My friends found me on the beach, wearing my nightgown and nearly passed out.” Geralt could have sworn he saw that before, a memory of Jaskier panting on the beach, then remembered the picture of Jaskier in his living room, his gown weighed down with water and dirt, looking like he had been through hell. “I used to swim out miles and miles as well, until no matter how deep I swam, I couldn’t find the bottom.” 

Geralt tried to imagine that, not having the support of shore beneath your feet, the waves throwing you every which way. It was a terrifying thought, and it made his chest tighten, until he thought he couldn’t breath. Suddenly the thought of exploring the ocean seemed horrifying, wondering what could have been down there underneath Jaskier, waiting to pull him under. 

If there had been monsters on land, it made sense they would be in the water too. 

“Whenever things got too stressful, or I was upset with something my parents did, I would go swimming. It is very peaceful down under the waves y’know.” 

“That’s stupid Jaskier,” Geralt said, combing his hands through the sand. It was soft and airy, full of shells and crystals, and it fell through his fingers. “What if you died?” 

“That is the fun part my dear. It’s the exhilarating experience of not knowing if you’ll live or die.” He shrugged, as if that were something everybody said. “Me and my friends used to jump into the ocean from the cliffs, and swim for days straight, not knowing if we would make it back alive. At least I think we did.” 

And then Geralt understood something. This young man, this boy, valued his life less than he did excitement. Geralt had been through the same; wondering why it mattered if he drank one too many bottles, because if he died, then who fucking cared. That was why he crashed his motorcycle, because things had been hopeless, and driving made it better for him. Then he had gotten help, and reconstructed his entire world view. 

He looked at Jaskier, who seemed so young and fragile, and then imagined mourning him. It wasn’t something he liked the idea of. 

“Are you suicidal Jaskier?” he asked, because he wanted to know if Jaskier knew himself. It seemed like such a personal question, and Geralt almost regretted asking it, but Jaskier didn’t seem fazed.

“I’m not suicidal dear heart,” he smiled like he had said those same words a thousand times before, “I just don’t think life is worth living being afraid of death around every corner.”

The answer shocked Geralt. He didn’t want to believe Jaskier actually thought that, but knew in his heart it was true. It made sense to him now, why Jaskier stayed with Garrett until he was arrested; Garrett was exciting to Jaskier, and had brought Jaskier the thrill he craved. It didn’t matter what happened to Jaskier, only how it had made him feel. Jaskier should have known better. Garrett was familiar to Jaskier, no matter how much he hurt him. 

“Can you hear that Geralt?” Jaskier asked, his voice small. 

“Hear what?” 

Jaskier gazed off into the oceans, and shook his head, like he was clearing his ears of water. Geralt strained to hear, but he could only hear the waves crashing down upon the beach. 

“Nevermind. It doesn’t matter. Let's go home Geralt,” Jaskier said, and stood up, walking away from the waves. Geralt scrambled up and brushed the sand from his suit, still reeling. Outside, on the beach in the night, for a brief second, Jaskier seemed like he was too big for this world, like it wasn’t the world that owned him, but he who owned the world. 

Geralt wished for the millionth time that night he actually knew how to communicate with people; but like his inability to make small talk, Geralt was even worse for deep conversations. He remembered teaching Ciri about the racism and sexism rooted in their country’s past, and figured that talking to Jaskier would be worse than that. He wanted to ask Jaskier more, but couldn’t open his mouth, knowing that any word he said would be ignored. He knew, because he used to be Jaskier. 

All he could for, he thought as they walked home, was that he was exciting enough for Jaskier to stay with him, so Geralt could try and teach him how to be better. Because if Jaskier didn’t know he was suicidal, then Geralt was willing to bet he didn’t want to go to therapy, and didn't know it would help. 

They walked up the stairs to their third floor apartment. They stopped outside both their doors, and Jaskier gripped Geralt's hand. “Would you like to do this again sometime soon?” he whispered. 

Geralt looked at him, at how young and delicate he seemed to be, despite their height almost being the same. He knew what his answer would be. 

“Yes.” 

* * *

Broken knew broken, and that was a fucking stupid line Geralt hated with everything he had. It seemed so cliche, the idea that broken people knew broken people, like they are drawn to each other, liking having a mental illness made you broken inside, which wasn’t true. Geralt never liked to think of himself as broken; instead he was incomplete, something that Ciri had filled when she came into his life. 

But he could see the symptoms, could recognise the mindset that he used to have, before he talked about it with his first therapist. 

Jaskier walked and talked like he was missing something inside him. 

He learned something important over his time in therapy; sometimes being suicidal wasn’t actively seeking your death. Sometimes it was drinking until you blacked out, not caring what happened to you. Sometimes it was wishing for an illness to kill you. It was putting no effort into living, not caring what happened to you. 

Geralt used to do that, live life like a zombie walking through the city, not caring, until he was forced too. He could see it in Jaskier, how he forgot to eat, how he drank in the mornings, how he nearly drowned himself as a kid and didn’t see a problem with it. 

He wanted to help Jaskier, and so he decided to fall in love with him. 

* * *

The next day Geralt woke up, and stayed in bed for another forty minutes, thinking. He was meeting Jaskier for coffee on Monday because Jaskier’s shift was being given to someone else, and of course he was the type of person to drink coffee in the afternoon. Jaskier had kissed his cheek goodbye, and Geralt had blushed bright red, before returning home. 

He groggily sat up and got out of bed, feeling light headed. Ciri was in the kitchen, and she ran up to him when she saw him enter. 

“Dad! How was it! Are you guys dating now?” She was practically vibrating with energy, desperate to know what happened. 

Geralt brushed aside all her questions, and went to get some coffee. She crowded around him, still pestering about what happened last night. “It was good,” he said simply, watching as Ciri threw her hands up in the air in agitation. 

“I am going to need a bit more than that dad,” she said, pointing a finger at him accusingly. 

“It was fun Ciri,” he said, watching the coffee brew. “We’re meeting again tomorrow for coffee.” 

Ciri cheered as she had won something. “That was all you needed to say,” she said, and started making some eggs. “I’ll get the rest of the story from Jaskier when I head over today.” 

Geralt hummed, and sipped his coffee. It was pure black, the way he liked it. 

* * *

They met up on Monday, and Jaskier bounded across the street to the coffee shop without looking both ways, as if he didn’t care. He spun around in the middle of the street to watch Geralt, walking backwards, and Geralt felt his heart stop when he did. 

“I love this place,” Jaskier babbled, opening the door for Geralt. He got in line, and started looking over the menu. Jaskier was still talking beside him. “It’s home to my favourite coffee in the world. Patricia the owner is pretty great too.” 

The coffee shop was warm, with the thick scent of coffee and pastry. It was mostly empty, except for a teenager in the corner, writing on her computer, her fingers flying across the keyboard with breathtaking speed. She was writing something, perhaps an essay due for her class. Geralt remembered those days without a lick of fondness. 

Jaskier ordered a large iced americano, and Geralt got a small green tea, not willing to be kept up all night. Jaskier looked at him when he did, and Geralt got the feeling he was being made fun of for something he didn’t know. 

They sat down at one of the tables, and Jaskier hands trembled as he waited, the adrenaline coursing through his body, though for what Geralt didn’t. Jaskier wore a long sheer coat, and a blouse, and Geralt wondered where he got all those clothes on a bartenders salary. 

Their coffee arrived soon, and Jaskier sipped at it excitedly, the iced cubes clinking inside the glass, and it almost sounded like music to Geralt's ears, like Jaskier could make music out of anything, the way his feet made a beat on the stairs. 

“How is your tea?” he asked, pointing to Geralt's undrinken cup. 

Geralt took a sip and the tea burned his tongue, but he didn’t show it. “It’s good,” he said simply, watching as Jaskiers eyes lit up with happiness. It really was. The tea had a delicate taste, but a slight bitter aftertaste. The steam rose up and fogged up his eyes. 

“I know! This place is amazing. I come here all the time, so it’s great that I got to show you,” Jaskier said. He stared out the window, watching as the city passed by. He was silent for a few seconds, and Geralt was getting used to the small bouts of silence Jaskier had, as if considering something far beyond his reach. 

“I should learn archery,” Jaskier muttered, thinking to himself, and it was like the forest had blossomed out at his words. In Geralt's vision, sitting across from Jaskier, watching as his blue eyes followed the people outside, it was almost too easy to see Jaskier among the woods. Geralt could almost see the vines and leaves encircling Jaskiers head, and he could so clearly see the flowers and trees, like a world had been created in his words. Geralt wondered not for the first time if Jaskier was human. It was like the world centered on Jaskier, and with every word he said, more and more was created, like the universe was bending to his will. 

“Maybe you should,” Geralt said, and sipped his tea. It was cool enough now not to burn his tongue even though it had only been a few seconds. 

Jaskier startled. “I’m sorry, just thinking to myself,” Jaskier laughed, then directed all his attention to Geralt, and Geralt secretly basked in it. 

Geralt smiled softly when Jaskier picked out his straw to lick the whipped cream from the straw, almost like a child. Jaskier talked about everything he thought of, everything that came to his head, and Geralt thought he was finally getting a look into Jaskiers inner thoughts. 

They spent a few hours in the shop, and the owner, Patricia, came out and gave them a few pastries on a plate. “On the house,” she winked at Jaskier, and Jaskier blew a kiss at her. Geralt wondered how they became acquainted. 

They walked out and it was night again. The street lights illuminated the night, and Jaskier skipped ahead, as if he belonged to the night. Geralt could so easily imagine Jaskier, innocently moving through the streets at night, unaware of the dangers that lurked in the corners. It made him want to protect the man, who moved through the world like it was his plaything. 

“Hey Geralt,” he called from behind him as they walked. “I have a question for you.” 

Geralt hummed, and hoped Jaskier could understand him. 

“How many more dates do we need to go on before I can call you my boyfriend?” 

Geralt thought about it. He had been expecting the question to be asked quite a while ago. If he really wanted to help Jaskier, it would be good to be closer. Besides, it wouldn’t be that bad to be with the young man, who seemed inhuman to Geralt, as if he shouldn’t exist in this world, but rather in the imaginations of frivolous children. 

He hadn’t been on date in thirteen years. Now he was dating again. It was a strange thought, especially with someone so eccentric, but there was a tiny voice inside his head yelling “shut the fuck up and say yes,” and he learned a long time ago to always trust his gut. 

“How about right now?” 

Jaskier beamed, and his smile seemed brighter than the stars. Geralt could feel himself slip deeper into infatuation, as if he could only see Jaskier now. 

“That sounds great,” he cheered. “Now I have permission to call you all sort of stupid pet names,” he winked. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” and Geralt had a feeling he wouldn’t. 

* * *

“How was school?” Geralt asked Ciri, as she bustled around the kitchen, making a pot of soup. She had gotten the recipe from Jaskier, an old family recipe. It was already smelling amazing, filling the room with a scent that was so undeniably _Jaskier_. 

“It was fine,” she answered, not looking at him. She was chopping onions, and Geralt wondered why she wasn’t crying yet. She was cutting quickly, and Geralt hoped they wouldn’t have to make a hospital trip that day. “We read this cool legend in English.” 

“What’s it about?” 

“It’s about this man who was found floating in the ocean, wrapped in a tapestry. He was rescued by some fishermen, who believed that he would bring good luck to their village. They tried to worship him.” 

“And did they?” 

Ciri shrugged, and put the chopped onion into the bubbling broth. It splashed up, and Ciri flinched as some of the water hit her bare arms. “He disappeared right after the fisherman brought him to shore. It was a cool story though. Apparently it was about the lesson of ‘not jumping to conclusions’ or something. The fisherman thought he was a mermaid.” 

Geralt hummed, and then the door to the apartment was kicked open with a bang. The door slammed against the wall, and Geralt knew there was most likely a mark in the paint that he would have to fix later. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier yelled, rushing into the apartment. He was wearing a gown and 10-inch heels, and Geralt could feel his admiration for the man go up. Jaskier now towered over him, and Geralt mourned the loss of the high ground. Ciri greeted him, and he waved a hand in her direction. “I signed us up for archery lessons next weekend.” 

“That sounds so much fun,” Ciri squealed, cutting some carrots. Jaskier smiled at her happily. Geralt minding was racing, wondering when and why the fuck Jaskier had done that. 

“Why?” he asked dumbly. 

Jaskier sighed, as if he didn’t understand why Geralt didn’t know. “You mentioned how I should learn, and I thought ‘hey, this seems like a good bonding activity.’ We’re going this weekend. Sorry Ciri,” he looked at her sadly, “but I could only afford a day for two people.” 

Ciri waved him off. “It’s fine. You guys should get a day to yourself. I’ve been reading up on it, and apparently when you’re dating and you have children, sometimes it feels weird to be by yourself, and that in order to be in a successful relationship, you should time away from your kids.” 

Jaskier looked delighted; Geralt looked embarrassed. “You’ve read up on that?” he asked, wondering when Ciri did that. 

Ciri laughed. “I mean yeah, you’re practically useless when it comes to this stuff, so I took it upon myself. If you need any advice, just come to me okay?” 

Jaskier was crying laughing behind him, hunched over himself, his knees shaking in his heels, and Geralt could feel himself to smile as well. Ciri was smiling innocently at him, but her eyes were smug. 

Geralt felt Jaskier wrap his arms around Geralt, and Geralt resigned himself to the fact that his weekend was no longer free. 

* * *

Jaskier pulled his elbow back, and cocked the bow, aiming it towards the target. He took a deep breath in, and let the arrow fly, his fingers releasing the string. The arrow flew through the air and hit the mark dead centre. 

“Geralt? Did you see that?” Jaskier cried excitedly, watching as the arrow embedded itself into the target. He rocked back and forth on his heels, like a child. 

Geralt and the trainer looked at him in shock. Jaskier pulled out another arrow, and let that one go as well, and it hit right next to the last one. Jaskier didn’t even look like he was trying. 

They were at an arena an hour from the city. It was outdoors, and the wind ruffled Geralt's hair. The fence along the property marked the firing station, and few targets were set up, in the trees and leaned against rocks. The day was warm, and the sky was bright blue, almost as blue as Jaskiers eyes. 

“I thought you said you’ve never done this before?” the trainer, Zander, asked, sounding strangled, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Geralt could barely believe it himself. 

Jaskier shrugged. “Maybe I have,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the target. “I don’t remember.” 

“What do you mean you don’t remember?” Geralt asked, his own bow held tightly in his grasp. He could fight, punch, and swim, but he never learned how to shoot a bow and arrow. This was a new experience for him, like it should have been for Jaskier, except apparently he was really fucking good at it. 

He wondered how someone could forget something like that. It just made him even more worried about Jaskier, and what he had been through.

“I mean, I barely remember things from my childhood,” Jaskier explained, shooting off another arrow, not looking at Geralt. “I remember small memories, but that’s it. I may have learned this before, but I doubt it. Or maybe it’s just muscle memory, like from a previous life or some bullshit like that.” 

Zander raised an eyebrow. “So you’re just naturally talented then?” 

“Yep,” Jaskier exclaimed happily, not sensing Zanders scepticism, then backed away. Four arrows were embedded in the target, standing proudly in a circle. Geralt moved up where Jaskier used to stand, then tried to fire off one himself on a different target. Zander called out a few adjustments to make to his posture better, and Geralt followed them, shifting slightly. Jaskier called out encouragement as he fired, but no matter how hard he tried, only two of his arrows hit the mark, clustered on the outside, no where near the centre. 

Jaskier patted his back comfortingly. “We just need to practice, that’s all,” he said, and Geralt looked at him incredulously. 

“There's no ‘we’, Jaskier,” he grunted, and Jaskier shrugged, as if he didn’t have any control over his own skill. 

They spent the rest of the day at the archery range, shooting arrows. Halfway through Zander left to teach other people, content they knew what to do themselves. Geralt and Jaskier were left alone, firing arrows at the targets. 

“I’m convinced you lied about not knowing how,” Geralt muttered, as Jaskier got it dead centre for the fifth time in a row. It wasn’t jealousy burning in his stomach, but it was close. 

“I swear, I’ve never done this before,” Jaskier said, putting the bow down. He turned to Geralt, and smirked. “I’m just naturally skilled at everything I do. Didn’t you know?” 

“Of course you are,” Geralt said sardonically, and Jaskier gasped, offended. He walked up to Geralt and swatted his arm gently. 

“I don’t even know why I’m dating someone as mean as you,” he pouted. He had abandoned his coat a long time ago, and the t-shirt underneath was simple. The jeans underneath were not, covered in different symbols and sayings Geralt didn’t understand “Not when you’re going to treat me like this.” 

“You asked for it,” Geralt said, and Jaskier laughed. 

“That I did my dearest,” he responded and moved closer. His face got close to Geralts and Geralt could feel his face start to heat up. He silently cursed his absent mother for his pale skin that allowed him to blush so easily. Jaskiers eyes were teasing, and he brought his fingers up to cup Geralt's neck, hands brushing Geralts scars. “Is it alright that I kiss you?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost a whisper. 

The air was tense, and the wind blew. A birds song filled the air, sounding like a warning, for who Geralt didn’t know. 

Geralt nodded, not saying a word. The wind blew through and Jaskiers t-shirt tried to fly away. Jaskier pressed his lips gently against Geralts, then pulled away again after a few seconds. It was more simple than Geralt thought it would be. His lips were warm, almost strangely so, like kissing hot metal. Geralt could have sworn he tasted ozone as well. 

“You did good, love,” Jaskier said, then backed away, taking his warmth with him. Geralt tugged him back, and kissed him again, a little rougher, and Jaskier leaned into it, letting Geralt do what he wanted. 

“Is it alright if I say I love you, or is that too soon?” Jaskier asked when he pulled away again. Geralt wondered why he fell in love with him so soon, and decided that was just who Jaskier was, a man who loved too much, and who didn’t deserve someone like Geralt, deserved someone better. 

“Just as long as you don’t expect it back,” Geralt replied, and kissed him again. He wasn’t in love with Jaskier; it was getting there though. Jaskier may have been foolish enough to fall in love so soon, but Geralt wasn’t that stupid. 

But he could admit he could easily imagine spending his life with Jaskier. 

“Then I love you,” Jaskier said, and Geralt knew it to be true. 

“Ahem,” a voice sounded behind them, and both turned to see Zander behind them, looking unimpressed. “Time is up. Get out.” He looked at Jaskier with a little respect. “Come back soon if you want to learn more.” 

Jaskier laughed, then pulled away, but holding onto Geralt's hand. “Let's go home my dear, Ciri is probably just waiting to hear how it was.” 

* * *

Jaskier walked like he was missing something inside himself, watched the world like he was looking for something that didn’t exist. He looked like he was compensating for something lost in his life, something that he didn’t even realise he didn’t have. Geralt wished he knew what it was so he could give it to Jaskier, to make him happier, cause maybe then Jaskier wouldn't forget about him. 

But Geralt didn’t know. So instead he gave Jaskier flowers, particularly roses and bluebells. Geralt thought that if he had a bouquet from Jaskier, Jaskier should have one from him. He got them from a small florist across the street from the mechanics. They were wrapped in a white ribbon, and Jaskier had cried a little getting them. 

“These will be going up on my ceiling soon,” he said, burying his nose in them, and Geralt forgot to ask why he even hung them instead of throwing them out. “Thank you Geralt, I love you.” 

They had been dating for two months, and Jaskier had said _I love you_ six times. Geralt still couldn’t say it back, knowing it would be a long time until he could. But he appreciated when Jaskier did it, and knew for a fact that Jaskier wasn’t lying when he said it. 

Sometimes Jaskier would serenade him; Geralt and Ciri would come over for supper, and Jaskier would sing. He had a guitar, but he barely used it, instead used his words to enchant them. He sang of ancient woods, and fantasy worlds. It was beautiful, watching Jaskier create worlds with his words. Geralt pretended to hate it, but would hum Jaskiers songs to himself at night. 

They were dating for three months when Geralt introduced him to Vesemir. 

It wasn’t by choice unfortunately. 

Vesemir was visiting for the first time forever, and Geralt got the text when his father was forty-five minutes away from the apartment, already in the city. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, banging his head against the wall. One of his co-workers looked at him funny, and Geralt bared his teeth at him. It was his lunch break, and he still had six more hours of work. Vesemir would be at the apartment all alone and-

Jaskier. 

Double fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Geralt spent the rest of the day worrying about both his father and Jaskier. He had no doubt in his mind that Jaskier had broken into his apartment to wait for Geralt and Ciri to get home, and that Vesemir would open the door to see some random man inside his son's living space. His adoptive father didn’t take kindly to intruders, and he didn’t know about Jaskier. Geralt hadn’t told him yet. 

He sped home after work, hoping to all God that Jaskier was okay. He ran up the stairs, two steps at a time, his boots hitting the floor loudly, making music almost the same way Jaskier did, and threw open the door with a bang.

Remarkably, Jaskier was unharmed. 

“Oh hello Geralt. Why didn’t you tell me your dad was hot?” Jaskier waved from the counter, sitting cross legged like always, while Vesemir rolled his eyes from the table. Geralt could see the white ribbon wrapped around his wrist, tied with a bow. Ciri was in the kitchen, eyes flicking between the two as if it were the most amusing thing she had ever seen.

“This is the one you decided on?” Vesemir asked, pointing at Jaskier. Jaskier held up the middle finger in his direction, and Ciri snorted. 

Geralt stood there dumbly, trying to process how Jaskier hadn’t been torn to shreds yet. Vesemir didn’t suffer fools gladly, and Jaskier was as foolish as they came. “You think my dads hot?” he asked instead, trying to ignore the fact that Vesemir wasn’t even his dad. Or hot for that manner, but Geralt thought it would be kind of weird to think of your father figure as hot. 

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I mean, c’mon. You know I love you-” seventh time, “-but hot damn. He certainly aged well. He’s going to have to give me his skin care routine for when I grow older.” 

“He’s been doing this all day,” Vesemir said, sounding like a mixture between highly amused and highly annoyed. “Make him stop. How do you shut him up?” 

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Geralt said without thinking, then winced at the offended yelp Jaskier produced. Vesemir chuckled, and shook his head. 

“So you two haven’t killed each other yet,” Geralt asked. 

“Oh goodness no,” Vesemir said at the same time Jaskier yelled, “He almost did!” 

“What happened?” 

“Your boy is just being dramatic,” Vesemir sighed. “It was barely even a kick, more like a small step, that’s all. And he was the one who scared me.” 

“You kicked me in the fucking stomach,” Jaskier accused loudly. “I’ll be pissing blood for months because of you!” 

Geralt glanced at Ciri helplessly and she shrugged. “Don’t look at me, I just got here.” 

Geralt sighed and entered the apartment, his fear forgotten. He kissed Jaskiers forehead, and he smiled happily when Geralt did so. Vesemir looked at them both strangely, and Geralt remembered how Vesemir had been the one to visit him while he was in the hospital, and the one to watch as Geralt abandoned all his bedpartners for his daughter. This must have been a weird experience for him, watching his adoptive son finally get back to dating. 

“Are you staying for dinner?” Geralt asked, already knowing the answer, and hating it. 

“Of course,” Vesemir responded and Geralt cringed internally. He really wished Vesemir would have given him more of a warning before coming over. 

“So this is kind of a meet the parents thing?” Jaskier asked, and Vesemir rolled his eyes.

Geralt glared, and went into the kitchen to begin planning supper. He spent the night watching Jaskier and Vesemir bantering back and forth, as if they had known each other for so long. Their words were biting and harsh, but not spoken to hurt, and Geralt could see the respect they were gaining for each other. 

He ended up making some potatoes and ham. Ciri helped him cut the vegetables, while Jaskier yelled things from his place on the counter. He served the meal, and prepared himself for the dinner. Jaskier stayed where he was, but twisted his body so he could talk to them. Vesemir bitched about it the entire time, about how, “he really should be eating with us,” but only Geralt could see that it didn’t really matter to him. 

“How long are you staying in the city for?” Ciri asked, taking a bite of her potatoes. 

“Only a few days, I just came over to check up on Geralt,” Vesemir replied. “I got a hotel a few minutes from here.” 

“Thank fuck,” Jaskier sighed, sounding relieved, balancing his plate on his knees. “So you won’t be staying with us.” 

“Watch your language around my granddaughter. Really Geralt, you couldn’t do any better?” Vesemir raised his eyebrows. 

Geralt placed his head inside his hands, and Ciri gave him a sympathetic look. 

The rest of the dinner passed fairly uneventfully, and Vesemir left the apartment after a few hours. He was getting older and needed all the rest he could get before he hurt himself. Geralt hugged Vesemir goodbye, and Jaskier gave him a handshake. “Treat my son right,” Vesemir said, like they were in some sort of teenage coming of age movie, and Geralt was the teenage girl in need of defending by her father. 

“I will,” Jaskier replied and winked at Geralt, like there was some secret meaning in his words. Jaskier backed up away from the door, and was pulled away by Ciri so they could look over her homework for tomorrow. Geralt was left alone with his father for the first time that day. Geralt braced himself for the berating he would inevitably be getting for not telling Vesemir about his boyfriend. 

But the lecture never came. Instead, “be careful, that boy doesn’t seem right” was all he said, before putting on his boots, and clapping Geralt on his back. Geralt said goodbye, and watched him leave. 

What the fuck did that mean? 

* * *

Carol welcomed him into her office warmly. 

“Mr. Rivia,” she said, flipping her notebook open, crossing her legs. “How are you today?” 

“I’m good,” Geralt said, leaning back into the couch. Carol looked at him disbelievingly, and Geralt sighed. She always seemed to read him perfectly, knowing what he wanted to say. “I actually have a question for you.” Carol waited for him to speak, knowing he would speak once he was ready. Geralt had avioded talking to Carol about it for a few months now, and he finally decided it was time. “I have a boyfriend now, but I don’t think he’s okay.” 

It was always good to be honest. 

Carol smiled. “First of all, congratulations. That's a big development for you, and it’ll be good for you to have some more support. Let me guess - Jaskier?” Geralt nodded and she smiled. “Buttercup. That’s good. Second, what do you mean by that?” 

“I think he might be suicidal.” 

Carol's eyebrows shot up. “And why do you think that?” 

“He doesn’t value his life much, and is constantly getting himself into trouble. I remember how I used to be.” 

Carol slowly wrote something down, then looked up. “That isn’t good grounds to assume how someone is feeling, Mr. Rivia.” 

Geralt huffed. “I suppose, but he also has trouble remembering his childhood, and uses stories to cover it. Even if he isn’t suicidal, I’m worried about him.” 

“Have you talked to him about it?” 

Geralt looked away, and Carol sighed in disappointment. “You need to communicate in a healthy relationship Geralt, or else it’s going to go to shit. Maybe ask him if he would like to come along with you on one of these appointments?” 

Geralt nodded his head, considering it; Jaskier already knew about his appointments, but never expressed any desire to go along. But Geralt never offered, didn’t feel comfortable bringing someone along. These sessions felt like his own private territory, and as much as he liked Jaskier he wasn’t about to give up his only safe spot, so he didn’t say a word. 

“He doesn’t need to, it was just a suggestion. Maybe give him my number instead and if he needs it, he can call me.” 

That was a better suggestion. Geralt thought maybe that was what he’d do. Jaskier would probably benefit from talking to someone about his childhood. 

He was really worried about Jaskier, didn't want to risk anything happening to him. And maybe that made him selfish, helping Jaskier because he knew that neither him or Ciri could handle it if he left them. He wanted Jaskier to be safe, to be happy, to walk around complete inside. But he also didn’t want to push him into something he didn’t want to do. 

“Have you talked about his childhood?” Carol asked, and Geralt remembered what they had talked about so many sessions ago. 

“No, but he told us another story. The one about his sister and brother.” 

Carol nodded her head. “Ah yes, the ones that could turn into birds, and control electricity, yes? Well let me tell you something Geralt, sometimes stories like that could be true.” At his distrustful look she scoffed. “It’s true. This world is vast, and unexplained as the oceans. But you won’t be able to find out the truth until you find out exactly what he means when he talks about his family.” She brushed off her paper and changed the subject. “Now, let's talk about Ciri.” 

Geralt left that session feeling strange, as if the world around him didn’t exist. 

* * *

They had been dating for three months when Geralt first brought up the topic of therapy. He had put it off since that session with Carol, not wanting to scare Jaskier off, but found that the question burned in his mind. 

They were inside Jaskiers apartment, and Ciri was at Dara’s place for the night. Jaskier had invited him over for dinner, and the evening felt charged, like something was just waiting to happen. Jaskiers hands trembled even more violently, like he was restless, like he needed to do something. Jaskier made pasta and Greek salad, which was amazing as always. Geralt sat in his kitchen, and he could see the bouquet he gave Jaskier hanging from the ceiling. 

After dinner, Jaskier brought out a cake, and they had eaten almost half by themselves. Jaskier gave up on a plate after the first slice, and was instead eating it right from the platter with his fork. He looked up when Geralt opened his mouth. 

“Therapy? Why do you say that?” 

“I just thought it could be something to benefit you,” Geralt said, trying to get his point across without revealing too much of himself, hoping that Jaskier would understand him. Jaskier already understood his silences better than most. 

“Nah, too expensive,” Jaskier said, leaning back. He had some icing on his lips, and he wiped it away with his finger. “I’ve tried once and it nearly drained me. Sad how they treat mental illness in this country, but I doubt things’ll change soon.” 

Geralt sighed and dropped it. He would talk to Carol next session about insurance and other forms of payment. If Jaskier didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t push. That was what pushed him away from his friends when he was younger.

He would stay worried about Jaskier for another few days. 

Jaskier put away the cake, then turned and walked over to Geralt. There was something different in his steps, and he approached Geralt like he was approaching prey. “So,” he said, his voice low. “We’re here. Alone. At night.” 

Geralt swallowed thickly, blushing slightly. “I noticed.” The atmosphere had changed, and Geralt remembered when he was younger and would follow random men and women upstairs piss drunk. This reminded him of them, but with more love and care. 

“Oh, you did, did you? Well, what do you want to do now?” He leaned over Geralt, his hands on his thighs, a welcome weight. He was almost in Geralt's lap, and Geralt thought that maybe he wouldn’t mind if Jaskier sat down. 

“Maybe watch a movie or something.” 

Jaskier threw his hands up in defeat, and the moment was ruined, shattered. Geralt smiled softly at Jaskiers frustration. “Jesus fuck, you’re impossible to seduce.” 

Geralt wrapped his hands around Jaskiers waist, and tugged him into his lap with a sharp movement. He pressed his lips against Jaskier, and they kissed deeply. Jaskiers earlier irritation was now forgotten. “I was kidding Jaskier,” Geralt said teasingly when he pulled away, voice slightly breathless from lack of air. 

“Well get better jokes then,” Jaskier huffed, putting his arms around Jaskier. “You had me scared for a second.” 

“Sorry,” Geralt muttered, then kissed him again. It was soft, sweet, but filled with intent. They both knew what they wanted that night. 

“Do you want to go to bed with me?” Jaskier asked after a few minutes. He sounded breathless, and his eyes were filled with lust. Geralt was almost in love with him, and could feel himself sink deeper. He was close to returning Jaskiers love, he could almost taste it. He hoped that when he did, he would be enough for the man. 

Outside a storm howled, the rain like bullets against the windows. Thunder and lightning crackled against the sky, like the heavens were waging war, like they were screaming a warning for all to hear. A warning for what, Geralt didn’t care. 

Geralt picked Jaskier up, and Jaskier legs wrapped around Geralt's waist. He carried them down the hall, the layout the same as in Geralts, and opened the door into Jaskiers bedroom. He threw Jaskier onto the bed, and Jaskier yelped. The bed frame creaked under his weight, the same one Geralt had helped put together that first few days, now so long ago. 

The sounds of thunder boomed through the sky, and the lightning was bright enough to be considered sunlight. Ciri was scared of storms, though Geralt, but there was nothing he could do about it now. And as he kissed Jaskier deeply, the sky seemed to reject their entire being, and Geralt blocked out all thoughts in his head but Jaskier. 

* * *

Geralt watched the ceiling in a tangle of sweaty sheets. His vision was slightly blurry as he relaxed his eyes. Jaskier was curled against him sleeping, teeth marks in his neck like Geralt always wanted to do ever since he saw them that first week. They were less animalistic though, and more caring. 

It had been so long since he had sex. He barely could remember what it had felt like. Didn’t think any of his previous bed partners could compare to the love and care Jaskier had shown him. 

Jaskier let out a small whimper in his sleep, and Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier. Jaskier seemed to curl around him, like he was seeking safety and comfort, and Geralt felt a small amount of pride that he was who Jaskier sought out in the night. 

The storm had picked up even more, if that was even possible, and the rain was so loud Geralt could barely think. He looked outside and wondered if he did something wrong. 

Jaskier began to thrash against Geralt, breathing heavily, making small helpless sounds, and Geralt sat up, wide awake. “Jaskier wake up,” he grunted, shaking Jaskier slightly. Jaskier was gasping, as if he wasn’t getting enough air, and he suddenly shot up, taking deep shuddering breaths. He was crying, and the tears flooded his cheeks and dripped onto the sheets. He was awake, and Geralt didn’t know what to do. 

“Geralt, you’re here,” Jaskier gasped, looking at Geralt through glassy eyes, and Geralt wondered what he dreamed about. 

Jaskier began to breath faster, his breath fast and his heartbeat fluttering. He was hyperventilating now, and Geralt could recognise a panic attack when he saw them. Geralt grasped his shoulders tightly, and remembered what Carol had taught him. “Jaskier, I need you to find five things you can see, okay? Can you do that?” His voice sounded more worried than he wanted it to. 

“Okay, okay. Five things.” Jaskier gasped louder. “I can do that, no problem. I can see a vase,” he stopped and heavily sobbed, before continuing, voice empty. “A clock……. a painting, a blanket, and a…..a mug.” 

“Okay good. Four things you can feel.” 

“You, the blankets, my fingers and my lips.” His breath was slowing down, but still shaky, and his shoulders still racked with sobs, shaking violently. A bolt of lightning lit up the room. 

“Three things you can hear.” 

“You, the storm, my heartbeat.” Jaskiers hands kept shaking, but Geralt had learned that was just something they did by themselves. He wondered what it would be like to hear your heartbeat. He had never had issues with that before, and he wondered if he was just abnormal. 

“Two things you can smell.” 

“Sweat, and flowers.” Jaskiers voice was back to normal, but his heartbeat was still fluttering, so Geralt asked the last question. 

“One thing you can taste.” 

“I can’t taste anything.” 

“Then what’s your favourite thing?” 

“Maple cream ice cream.” Something sweet, something so like Jaskier. Geralt wondered if Jaskier had any in his freezer they could enjoy. He let a shuddering sigh, and set Jaskier back down on the bed. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. 

“I’m good now. Thanks Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, and curled around himself, and Geralt mourned the loss of his body around him. “Jesus Christ, I haven’t got one of those in so long.” 

“What happened?” 

“Nightmare. Used to get them a lot, but lately they’ve been non-existent. Of course they would show up the day you finally slept over.” He sounded pissed, but his voice still had a rough quality to it, and it was obvious he had just finished sobbing. Jaskiers cheeks were flushed, and when the lightning hit, you could see the tear streaks on his flesh. 

“What was it about?” 

Jaskier looked at him with an unreadable expression. “I was underwater and drowning, weighted down by something,” he said. “I like the ocean, but it had its consequences. Sometimes it’s just as much an escape as it is a prison. Fuck, I’m sorry Geralt. I’m sorry you had to see this.” 

Geralt didn’t like it when Jaskier was apologising, especially for something he couldn’t control, from something that he got sometimes himself. “I get nightmares sometimes too,” he said without thinking. He mentally cursed himself for it. He could hear the blankets shift as Jaskier turned over to face him. 

“Really?” The storm raged around them, and Geralt felt exposed, as if something was watching him, something inhuman. “What are they about?” 

It was a question Geralt knew he would have to answer from the minute he opened his mouth, but he still wasn't ready. But Jaskier needed this. So did he.

“I crashed my motorcycle a long time ago, before I had Ciri. Sometimes I still dream of it. That’s how I got these scars.” His voice was gruff, and he suddenly realised he had never admitted to anyone but Carol about his nightmares. Jaskier must be special. It was almost love.

Jaskier brushed his fingers up and down the one that headed up to his neck, and Geralt shivered. “I wondered where you got this from.” 

Geralt couldn’t help himself from asking, “Do you really not care? About the scars?” 

Jaskier looked at him strangely. He seemed calmer now that they were talking, and Geralt was willing to stay up the whole night if it would help Jaskier, despite work tomorrow. “Why would it? I don’t mind. Besides, chicks dig scars.” 

“You’re not a chick though.” 

“Well I’m certainly not the one wearing the pants in this relationship.” 

Geralt snorted at his joke. They were silent for a few seconds, before Jaskier spoke up again. “Thanks for telling me Geralt. That makes me feel better.” 

Geralt smiled slightly. “You’re welcome.” 

Jaskier turned over onto his stomach and rested his cheek on his arms. “Anything else we want to admit while we’re in a sharing mood.” His voice was teasing, but Geralt could hear the grain of truth inside of his words. 

Geralt thought about it for a second. He had so much to tell, like what his mother had done, or what he had gone through as a teen and adult, but he couldn't open his mouth. He decided to leave them unsaid, and hoped Jaskier would stick around to learn them. 

“No. What about you?” 

“Nothing I can think of right now. Do you want to know anything specific?” 

Geralt stayed silent for a few more seconds, until he couldn’t take it anymore. It was a question that he had wondered ever since he first heard it, ever since the story had first been told, and now was the best time to ask it. 

(“You won’t be able to find out the truth until you find out exactly what he means when he talks about his family,” Carol said, and that thought invaded his head, and filled his head. He had to know, couldn’t move on without knowing.) 

“What really happened with your sister and brother?” The question almost echoed through the room, and the storm outside seemed to pause in its war. Geralt knew that something was about to change, and could taste it in the air. Maybe he’ll regret it. 

Jaskier sat up again, and rubbed his eyes sleepily. “You don’t believe me, huh?” 

Geralt sat up as well, the blankets falling off of him. “It is a little unbelievable Jaskier.” 

Jaskier looked at him sadly, as if he had never really considered that anyone would question him. “If you really want to know, then I’ll try to think. I can’t really remember. Hang on.” He was silent for a few minutes; the storm howled loudly, sounding like war drums in the sky. The sky was split in two with a lightning bolt, and Geralt could feel his hair stand on end, the static in the air. 

When Jaskier started, his voice was dreamy, almost like he was speaking through a day dream.“I think she committed suicide. I must have been young when she did, because my brother told me about it. He told me that she turned into a bird, so I think that might be where I got it from. I think she was running away from-” he stopped and furrowed his eyebrows, thinking hard. “From our parents, the monsters. She jumped, and my brother told me she turned into a bird.” Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier tight, knowing he was probably in need of support. 

“If you can’t remember, don't tell me,” he whispered, but Jaskier shook, as if he were remembering something he had forgotten, as if something inside of him was so close to escaping, something so close to coming to the light. Geralt had opened something, but what he didn’t know. He walked around like he was incomplete, and now Geralt was scared he had found that missing piece. 

“And my brother, he-” he shook his hands, not knowing what to do with them. A lightning bolt came down uncomfortably close to them, and someone screamed outside, a sharp echoing sound. “-he must have been electrocuted, because he disappeared after my sister. And my mother, she knew it would happen, she knew that they would die. Somehow she knew, because I know her as the woman who could see into the future.” 

Jaskier hopped up and began to pace the room, his energy too high to be laying in bed. Geralt got up after him, putting on some pants, the blankets falling to the floor. He threw a silk gown at Jaskier, who caught it and put it on, almost without thinking. “But I can’t remember Geralt, I can’t. I don’t remember if she killed them, or if she just knew they would die.” 

“Jaskier, you can stop if you want,” Geralt said, his voice low and comforting, like he was talking to a spooked animal. 

“Geralt, you don’t understand.” Jaskier trembled, like he was trying to escape. “I don’t remember, I don’t know if my sister was a bird, or if she was just dead, or if my mother predicted my brother's death, or anything. I don’t remember what’s real or not inside my head. And I can hear these voices crying out now-” 

He stopped and spun around. He marched out of the room, and into the kitchen. A loud crash sounded, and Geralt could see the lute fall to the floor, the strings snapping. 

Geralt followed Jaskier warily. He grabbed a knife from the drawer, and Geralt felt a flash of fear, but Jaskier only turned into the living room. He approached the tapestry, the gown swirling around his legs like water. “I stole this from her,” he said quietly, looking at the tapestry. “It was a gift, a tribute to my siblings. But I couldn’t bear it, being surrounded by the monsters, so I stole it, and jumped into the sea. And I was found floating in the ocean by someone. And they saved me, so they could worship me-” he trembled. “No, that’s not right. Is it?” 

(“It’s about this man who was found floating in the ocean, wrapped in a tapestry. He was rescued by some fishermen, who believed that he would bring good luck to their village. They tried to worship him,” Ciri had said.”) 

Geralt had been blind. Jaskier was no human, and Geralt didn’t know what god he was. He remembered back when he was young and drunk, saying to a girl at the bar, “we make our own gods out of things we love the most.” 

What did Geralt love the most in Jaskier? 

“Jaskier, what are you?” Geralt asked, his voice betraying the terror he felt, and Jaskier turned. The lightning flashed, and the room was illuminated, the tapestry of the maybe bird god girl, and the boy god of electricity. Jaskiers eyes were blue, almost terrifyingly so, and he looked inhuman. 

He was inhuman. 

He wasn’t suicidal, Geralt realised, he just didn’t know what it was like to die. He was immortal, never had saw the light before in his life. 

“Geralt what’s happening?” Jaskier begged, as if Geralt would have a fucking clue. “I have all these thoughts, and-” he stopped, as his voice was drowned out by a loud clap of thunder. 

Geralt didn’t have an answer to give him. Jaskier turned back to the tapestry, and raised the hand with the knife, tearing into the fabric, a loud slashing sound in the air. Geralt could do nothing but watch as it was reduced to shreds. Jaskiers own childish stitching came undone easily, but his mothers wasn’t as easy to destroy, but he made a valiant effort to. Geralt wanted to stop him, but felt rooted to the floor. 

The lightning flashed again, and Geralt could swear he saw shadows watching them from outside the window. 

The tapestry was now destroyed, and Geralt watched horrified, as Jaskier screamed, a wild violent sound, like he was waging war against the storm, like he was what the world outside was challenging. Jaskier turned to him, eyes wild. “I can’t Geralt,” he screamed, and Geralt could almost understand what was happening. 

In Greek myths, sometimes the gods would fuck up really bad, and Zeus, the bastard, would turn them into a human for a few centuries, to teach them a lesson. He did it when some gods made the mistake of trying to overthrow him. 

Geralt wondered what crime Jaskier had committed to be banished to humanity. He could see how both memories were clashing, the memories he held as a god, and the memories he warped into humanity. He wondered why the gods had come back for him now, wondered if it had something to do with him, and the love he knew Jaskier had for him.

Jaskier turned and ran, the knife clattering to the floor. His feet hit the floor like drums, and he ran out of the apartment, following something that Geralt couldn’t see nor hear. Geralt ran after him anyway. 

Outside the storm was worse than it seemed, and Geralt was almost blinded the second he stepped foot out of the apartment complex. But he could see the white of Jaskiers gown disappearing into the darkness, and Geralt knew where he was going. 

(“Whenever things got too stressful, or I was upset with something my parents did, I would go swimming,” Jaskier had told him so long ago.)

He followed down the road down to the ocean, twenty-five minutes away if you were walking, fifteen if you ran as fast as you could, chasing after the white in the night. 

Soon the sand was under his feet, and he continued to run, gasping for breath, along the darkened beach. The waves crashed onto the sand, violent and war-like, and Geralt made sure to stay towards the end, lest he be drowned. He tried running along the beach, trying to find the white of Jaskiers gown. 

Eventually he saw him, standing near the end, staring out into the waves, as though in a trance. Through the howling wind Geralt thought that maybe he could hear what Jaskier was speaking of, a chanting, a musical choir, a screaming battle cry, all saying the same thing, “come home to us child.” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt screamed, and Jaskier turned. He was a god in human form, his white dress soaked and streaked in mud. He filled the whole world with his presence the day he was rescued from the waves by some random fisherman and he filled it now. Even before, he had seemed too big. He seemed like the world spread out, his creation stretching from him. Jaskier turned away from him, ignoring his words. 

Geralt took a deep breath, and then ran out from the end of the beach towards Jaskier. He could still see the humanity in him, the man, not god, Geralt had fallen in love with. Because that was what it was now; love. 

He wrapped his arms around Jaskiers torso, and held him close just as Jaskier was about to jump into the waves. “Let go of me,” Jaskier screamed, and the heavens screamed too. Jaskier thrashed and kicked, yelling something about home, refusing to acknowledge that his place in the apartment right next to Geralt was his home, not whatever bullshit island he came from. 

“Jaskier don’t go,” Geralt begged, hoping he didn’t remember this tomorrow, because he never begged for anything before in his life. 

“Geralt let go of me,” Jaskier howled. The wind picked up, and the storm swirled around them. “Please, I beg of you, let me go! They're calling me home.” He kicked and scratched, his nails digging into Geralt skin. 

The ocean moved and sounded like a wounded animal, and with a start, Geralt realised a giant wave was heading right towards them, about to crash over them, and drag them out into the water. He knew he would drown, and Jaskier didn’t seem to realise it was there, didn’t seem to care. Geralt braced himself for the impact, hoping to every god in existence (and apparently they actually existed now) that Ciri would find a good home with Yennefer. It was weird, he thought, to accept your death for a second time. He closed his eyes and held tightly onto Jaskier, and took a deep breath and-

* * *

“This is a bad idea Geralt,” Yennefer said, watching as Geralt signed the papers, declaring her legal guardian if anything happened to Geralt, and Ciri was left alone once again. 

“Well, you’re the only one I trust enough with her,” Geralt muttered, signing his name with a flourish, and giving the pen to Yennefer. She rolled her eyes, but took it anyway, and signed her name. 

“There has to be someone better than me,” Yennefer stated, stepping away from the papers, her heels clicking on the marble. 

“Well, it’s too late now,” Geralt grunted. He bared his teeth at her, and she scoffed. “Better hope something doesn’t happen.” 

“Believe me, I’ll be praying for it,” she drawled, before walking away. 

* * *

-the water splashed on either side of Geralt, but not a single drop touched him. He opened his eyes, and Jaskier had his arms out, and was no longer struggling in his arms. He looked shocked, as if he couldn’t believe he had just done that, then his eyes rolled back into his skull, and he fainted, a dead weight in Geralt's arms. 

Geralt slowly manoeuvred Jaskier until he was carrying him bridal style, and gazed at his face, which now looked so peaceful now that he wasn’t screaming. He wondered how someone could have stopped an ocean wave, then remembered that Jaskier was no human. 

A lightning bolt hit the ground next to Geralt, and Geralt could feel the heat on his arms, burning through his skin. A young man appeared from it, looking younger than Jaskier, but with similar features. He had the same face and hair as his brother, but his eyes were bright purple instead of blue. 

A bird flew down from the sky and landed, before transforming into a woman, with long hair pulled back in a bun, and bright green eyes. She looked cold and imposing, kind of like Yennefer. Maybe that was why Geralt wasn’t scared of her. 

“We’ll be taking out brother back now,” she stated, and Geralt could feel the power in her voice, the way the very earth seemed to shake when she opened her mouth. 

Geralt had never stood down a god before; he supposed there was a first time for everything, 

“No,” he said, and tightened his grip on Jaskiers body, terrified they’d try and take Jaskier from him by force. 

“No?” the woman said, sounding taken aback. “You can’t just say no to me.” 

“I just did,” Geralt said dryly. 

The woman opened her mouth, then shut it again, looking affronted. Geralt got the feeling no one had ever stood against her before, and he felt a sense of pride come over him at the thought that he was the first one to do so. 

“I kinda like him,” the boy said, and Geralt tasted ozone again. “It takes guts to stand up to a god, I have to applaud him.” He turned to Geralt and smiled, a creepy inhuman grin that stretched across his face like plastic. “I’m the god of electricity, technology, and tar. I would shake your hand, but it would probably kill you.” 

“And I’m the goddess of the earth, the hay, and the sun,” the woman stated, and Jaskiers freckles made more sense. “And we want our brother back.” 

“You can’t have him,” Geralt said, feeling his knees buckle, but refused to fall to the ground, refusing to show weakness in front of these gods. 

“Then who will be the god of music, ocean, storytellers and whores?” the boy asked, his voice sounding slightly like static, like it was coming from an old 1950’s radio. 

Geralt smiled sharply. “Make your own,” he said, because he knew these gods weren’t created themselves, and if they could be made through the love of humanity, then a new god could be made through the will of each other. 

“He has served his punishment for stealing,” the woman said, stepping closer. “It is time for him to come home. To resume his position.” 

Geralt thought Jaskiers apartment, thought of his own, where Ciri made supper, and Jaskier sat on counters like he belonged there, and wondered if that was a punishment to these gods, to be associated with humanity. He didn’t think it was a very good one. Humanity may have been pretty shitty over the years, but they had the capability of the most beautiful things, and if these gods thought that love was a punishment, then he didn’t want to be a god. Didn’t think Jaskier would want to either. 

“I think he’s happy here,” Geralt said, feeling confident in his devotion. “I don’t think he wants to go home. He described you as monsters.” 

“Little Julian, always playing victim,” the boy snarled, and the air crackled. “As if he wasn’t the one to steal our tribute, and run off with it. Mother was very displeased when he did.” 

The woman nodded solemnly. “Who are you to tell us, gods above you, what to do with our own little brother?” 

“I love him,” Geralt said. “So if I could perhaps have him, that would be great. You don’t need him, do you?” 

“Oh you love him,” the woman scoffed, before walking over to Geralt. “Do you think he’d be happy with you, living among the other filth on this planet.” 

“Yes,” Geralt answered, and it was the truth. He had sunken deep enough for it, had risked too much for it to be anything but. The woman threw back her head and laughed, a mocking sound that sounded like boulders crashing. 

“Prove it then,” and she touched Jaskiers head gently. Multi coloured steam floated out of his head, and Geralt didn’t punch her, partly because he knew punching a god _would_ get him killed, but also because both his hands were full. “If you really love him, convince him to stay. We’ll let him stay on this planet, but he’ll come crawling back, and then you’ll be alone again. This little display of rebellion will be for nothing.” 

Geralt wanted to argue back, but knew doing so would probably end horribly for both of them, so he kept his mouth shut. The woman backed away, and Jaskier felt lighter, as if he no longer held the world in his heart. 

Jaskier was complete now, like it was his godliness holding him back, like he was reaching for humanity as much as he could, but couldn’t stop his power. Because Jaskier may have been a god, but he worshipped humanity like humans did. 

How do you become complete by taking something away? 

“Goodbye little Julian,” the boy said, “see you soon,” and then he disappeared in the flash. The storm left with him, the rain turning into a drizzle, the dark clouds disappearing. Geralt wondered how long the boy had been watching them for. 

(He remembered the way the storm howled while Geralt had been in bed with Jaskier, and felt slightly embarrassed, but if these gods were anything like the Greeks, they had probably seen worse. Fuck Zeus and his sex drive.) 

“You’ll go to hell for this,” the woman said, and Geralt didn’t have the heart to tell her that Jaskier would be with him too. “Spend as much time as you can with him; it won’t last.” She transformed suddenly, turning into the bird inside of Jaskiers now ruined tapestry, and she flew away, taking her overwhelming presence with her

The storm was gone now, and the sand was soaking wet, but Geralt set Jaskier down gently anyway. It was almost morning, and the sun was peeking through the horizon. Geralt had work this morning, but he couldn’t lift his knees from the ground. 

Jaskier looked so peaceful on the ground. The god of music, oceans, storytellers, and whores; all things humanity loved, though Geralt couldn’t help but feel slightly offended on Jaskiers behalf for the last one. No wonder Jaskier was so beloved, humanity was just drawn to him. Jaskiers eyes twitched, and Geralt leaned down, hoping he was awake. He anxiously waited until Jaskiers eyes fluttered open. 

“What the fuck happened?” he asked, looking up at Geralt with shock in his face. Geralt was reminded of the photographer Jaskier had on his mantle, no longer proof of his godliness, because that was what it was, a reminder they had sent down for Jaskier, to remember who he was. 

“Do you not remember?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier shook his head. Geralt could see humanity in Jaskier. He was no longer a god, he was human, complete and utterly human, like he had yearned for all this time without knowing. He loved easily now, made mistakes easily, and drank like a light weight. He didn’t need to know what happened, and Geralt privately hoped that if he didn’t, then it might make it easier for Jaskier to stay. “Then it isn’t important.” 

Jaskier looked at him strangely, but allowed himself to be helped up by Geralt. Geralt leaned down, and kissed Jaskier gently. Jaskier returned the kiss happily. 

“I love you,” Geralt muttered, and Jaskiers eyes shone, like he had been waiting for those words his entire life. 

“I love you too.” 

* * *

They got back to the apartment, and the tapestry was whole again, as if it had never been torn apart. The threads were knotted together, and Geralt wondered if Jaskier finished it as a god, or as a human. If Jaskier had really stolen it, then he must have completed it on earth. The knife still lay on the floor, and Geralt picked it up to put it away. 

The photograph was no longer on the wall; the last thing Jaskier had from when he was a god no longer existed, as if it had never been there in the first place. 

Geralt could barely remember if there had been something there at all, or if it had all just been a figment of his imagination. 

* * *

“That storm last night was crazy,” Ciri was saying as she walked back into the apartment, her voice loud and clear. Geralt lifted his head, exhaustion coursing through his veins. Jaskier was in the other room sleeping. He had quite the ordeal although Geralt could barely remember what happened. 

Maybe he had gotten drunk again, for the first time in years. 

“It was,” Geralt agreed, and watched as Ciri threw her bags to the side. He fiddled slightly, trying to work up the nerve to talk.“I have to ask you about something.” 

“Anything dad,” Ciri said, looking both terrified and excited for what he had to say. Geralt smiled at her admission, and knew that she loved him.

“How you would feel if we were to,” he paused and licked his lips, “share an apartment with Jaskier, and what apartment would you like?” 

Ciri smiled so widely, it hurt Geralt to look at her. And Geralt already knew which one she would pick, which one she had been drawn to ever since Jaskier first moved in. 

* * *

Carol looked up from her book as Geralt brought someone inside of her office. She smiled softly at the young man behind Geralt. 

“Hello Buttercup,” she said, and the young man waved, smiling wide. 

“Hello, Geralt has mentioned you before. Carol, right? He says you’re pretty cool.” Geralt nudged him in the side, and the young let out a little ‘ow’. Carol chuckled. Geralt never was good at showing his feelings, but she hoped Jaskier would help him get better. 

“I've heard about you as well. Come in why don’t you? I get the feeling we have a lot of talk about.” 

**Author's Note:**

> if y'all want a second part with Garrett, (because he was meant to be a god as well,) then just ask. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this garbage!


End file.
